there is glass on the floor
in the shapes of hearts and hours
spent talking to ghosts.
when she rewrote the meaning
of beautiful.

and I can't say
I planned things to be this way.

There was a moment
of violin strings held taut
between her vocal cords
and my own; when we spoke
of breakdowns and the innocence
of voice.

this is the meaning of teasing divinity
and god rarely
has a sense of humor

our fingerprints
mingling on the crystal ashtray
shattered as it flew;
airborne
the thoughts of the Wright brothers
were keeping time

She knows how to drape heartache
with the taste of softly spoken trembles
like convulsions;

we sleep,
as strangers now
with loaded guns.

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