there’s this prickling, uncanny feeling {the way i fell asleep last night, with my arms tossed at odd angles over the denim couch and a cat fleshed out over my side} 

                                     where the world is awful and the sheets settle in arterial clumps around you 

                  and your pretty odd bones all 

perfection hidden by meat

            the prettiest things. 

i will never imagine anything better than those {here and affectionate and electric, scattered hum of our valved voices in the largest walled space anyone can occupy 

the sky is decayed, golden