/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.

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.