I don't live there anymore.
numbers change and so does my sleep
sometimes dark sometimes light,
drunk or tear drunk
alone or in pair.
I send messages through the air
for you to catch with your lips
and hold for a bit, to really feel it.
your lips are more sensitive than your fingers
my heart is more sensitive than yours.
long sinuous letters connect to words
that say what gets choked:
of places in the night where we locked
and quiet little moments of mutual caress
music and tears then laughter
that's all swept away toward yesterday
toward a place that I don't belong anymore
nor do you.