we slept in, written with ink so we could never let it slip.
We tossed and turned over, unconsciously moving closer.
Our bodies, like a thrilling hurricane and calm after the storm
left us shipwrecked in a flustered breathlessness
____
I could write free verse on the floor where we sat in silence,
the wind sweeping around the temporary tattoo 
of our names that I carved on the cold hard cement.
Content and thoughtful silence filled the air
and I felt like I was home
 ____
I could write novels on his irises that matched the moon
from our view off the rooftop. The fog danced and hovered
over the buildings. Smoke from our lungs part from our mouths
Sipping from a bottle, I tasted the cold sweetness of day
behind blurry visuals until the sun braved from hiding
____
I could write volumes on the pages of our moments.
I stutter and choke on words I want to set free, 
but I trapped them and I refuse to make a sound.
We settle like dust, unlikely to rise up from what we've
become and we remain ashes, untouched.