francis

what if i told you that sometimes

i climb up the steps of your body looking for god

and i meet the moon instead. sometimes she tells me

she doesn’t want to die anymore. says she slips beneath

your skin and that’s why when i wake up beside you

the room glows like a newborn heaven. but darling, see,

i have bad news for you about this thing called heaven.

yes, in the land where our love used to lie, you are sitting

on the porch at the end of the street and counting clouds.

something happened here. is the heart big enough to fill a world?

to define a landscape? it was. it tried to be. and look what happened.

this is a wasteland, alright, and you sit in the middle with a cigarette

and a newspaper waiting for the moon again. she sits behind the

crumbling woodwork and waits for you. patience, dearest, i'm waiting

until i wake up holding you again, until this is a dream again, until the

silver light streaming from your skin renders anger meaningless. i don't

know much but i know there is a reason why we're standing in this

place together beneath the falling sun. why i've joined you to put flowers

on both of our graves. see, this isn't it. this isn't all of it. not the room

where we get it right. darling, in one of these ghost towns, i'm holding

your hand. in one of these worlds, we're okay.