Your Wall

Days pass, weeks, in idyllic summer days, all lush green grass and unwavering sunshine. My skin grows brown, my breaths deep. I forget to write, not for lack of words but for lack of minutes spent in solitude. We share the same bed; it's been this way for years and you never consider it. She plays records at the downtown club and you tip the velvet rope with ease. Walk home past the old apartment--another home lost and it doesn't make you feel a thing. Your grandmother giggles that same way even when she can't remember your name. It doesn't matter: you never forget the way she has loved you. 

Brooklyn picked you up at the train station. Leaving the city has gashed a hole in their hearts they do not yet know how to repair. You owe them words, you owe them everything. We go for a swim under the full moon. 

Everything burns

To the ground.