and this is the only love i have,
write our names in the dirt.
traces of the gravity
we left in the folds
these impressions of love;
as if we once existed,
eyelid dreams. (we are)
sleepy poems and light fragments;
that never were.
there are dark and beautiful flames
giving warmth to space. collisions
of atoms and lungs. we too are burning—
a feathered beating and echoes
of distant oceans.