and all gods only in black &
white, and the two of us with the
luxury of fading away
the walls there thick with blood,
the air heavy with ghosts
rain against the windows
35 degrees
shades of grey laid on top of shades
of grey and it’s not love,
it’s fucking,
and the bruises are as
meaningless as you’d expect
said listen to this and
unbuttoned her shirt
said look and then pushed her
hand in through her pale flesh
pulled out someone else’s child
a miracle,
but i refused to applaud
this desert place


