Your name holds in suspension as my mouth empties itself into long stretches of nowhere.

You still live; where the grasses hiss at any lick of land along the main road.

You hover like a moth illuminated; like a dozen drugged up super moons; magnetic.

The lengths of rope around my wrists and ankles hold me together as they pull me apart for you, a constant ring around me; you extend eternally.

I am lost luggage, belonging to no one and everyone.

Our listless moans vibrate in the space of my throat, filling the emptied archive of empathetic arms I loved you forever.

Reverberating & often, grief holds me & your name.

A litany, litany, litany of porcelain hearts scattered between the years after you fell into permanence & after I put myself back together.

I have cross-dialed the plains for you.

In search of hills for pasture, perched on the highest rock facing east.

I dove into the deep.

It feels as though I have lived too many times for this sort of dream, with all-of its glamorous eternity.

You made a weapon of me. Siphoned whatever was left innocent. Left me a trigger-less barrel. Barren.

If it brings me to you, I will split this self between the sacred & the altar of Lazarus.

I ache for you; in the parts of me that still yield.