Two wrecks in a room. The beginning of every sorry-edged thought. Hand over all your possible languages and you won’t get hurt. We go together like Mozart and sulfur. All this musical burning. Red want. What is it? It’s something you don’t do which I cannot name. I miss it so much. It’s set between us like a giant swan. I associate all thoughts with blushing. Thoughts of me. Of you. The big birch in the back wants to be the only one. Evenings are like this. Begging for their own perfect light. Part of my mind is always blowing. The other part is restless and trimmed. It’s still cheap to want each other. If June wants to finish us we will always associate it with nostalgia. Memory where the heart should be. All my wits to you in this final try. It’s true that I will love your body more when I no longer have it. It will translate your stunning into something bearable. Too much beauty can break

your neck.