Cold Pillow

A thousand words apart we think in time and space. There's nothing but a universe between us, but we drown in worlds when we try to remember a gliding thought like a fleeting ship. I can't remember the last time I talked to you. Who are you? What do you like? Do you love me when my shirt is too tight, when my white bones are rubble and powder? The beer has been left open to fizzle, a field of golden syrup molded into a red berry tree. Calypso in the star-spangled horizons of a curious pupil. Oh, how the years have passed. Oh, how I remember the past, the rebel in my heart, the child in my soul. I'm still as cold as I was in that December when the rain never stopped, only a little warmer, only a little older. I play music at night but my artery is bloodless, calm weather evaporated into a winter storm. I don't know what is real. Lights are flushing in a citadel of memories, a fortress of broken dreams. I turn to the cold ear of a marble city. So far away. Worlds stray from earth root, when the boot crunches on benign feeling. I turn the wheel of solitude, caged in a hydroponic land, and I blossom when I hear you, your sweet voice. Lifeless one. Death was never more beautiful.