I could barely stand to hold my head up
Thinking I’d be better off the grid
Cus I could only handle my own heaven
Yours was on another plane to his

Cherubim and seraphim and lyres
Old Berlin and synonyms for tired

Sinking in the car, I’d kick my floor in
Given all the stars it might be bliss
The pulp from the memoir you left this morning
Framed me in an orange, golden tint

And if only I had bought the tape recorder
Just to hear you say those words again
The way you just surrendered made it all the
Sweeter
I was yours
I melted then

You dropped it in and left it on the side
The bathing water’s half of chapter nine

Sistine blisters
I was cricking my neck out trying to see our drawings of choirs get born
Sixteen, shivers
I remember my legs shaking in my head while you were making your bed up next door
Caffeine rivers
Your letters, they read themselves in my head, I left them all on your doorstep that fall
Fifty winters
My sweater was red, you were growing your hair out, said you were fed up with it short
But we’re on to something now

Bliss redelivered
I thought we had said not to pull at that thread when you
Kissed me
My skin shed
I had figured instead we’d begin to accept that it wouldn’t get better anymore