9. interim he says, "i think of you every day." recalling how i slipped under his skin like a paper cut, suddenly bleeding onto a cream towel, we starred in an erotic film. he says, "i think of what happened." he sees life cinematographically, angle shots curving to our cheeks paired like resting wings. i could commit suicide during our deserts of silence. how can he endure thirst, the water of phone everywhere. he says, "i know." i know that already. caught on separate ledges, we feign a game of ouija: who can read the other's mind first and spell the phrases we can see, behind glass souls. jagged-edged words which shred the eardrum like coral, unexpectedly fragile. tiffany vases we refuse to bid upon, fearing loss, instead we remain quiet, linger between damnation and ecstasy. sometimes, an outline of a noose forms the edges of his+my room as sorrow fills the space like tar. i am burning as if the sun were drowned in the ocean. sobbing won't increase the odds of his+my relase, only clears the skies of his haze for a day. to return and speak is the origin of evolution, we can begin shedding fossil layers of raw skin and cracked bones to reveal our place of birth.