shred

/we are only two people,
endless on a monday evening,
some distant radio singing gray static, and
like one-winged flies we search in circles of ignorance –
swearing that the ocean is just spit,
that the air will hold us if we decide to jump.

/instead:
no one saves you, 
your expired body
turn to rust and blocks the mouths of
rivers, silt collecting in your pores like gold
because the body is only beautiful in words;

/still the radio sings:
it was useless and temporary
and never meant to last
we have heard this story before;
and the night is old
so old that she has forgotten us
on this earth, thin as eggshells,
our bodies pulsing yolks.