1. We pass desperate on the way to Encino. In the passenger seat, you turn all you see into a feast: the clouds, the sun, the palm trees tipping west toward the blue blood of the ocean. You hold a cigarette in your limp hand, but I’m the one you inhale. I’m the one who absorbs your uncontested collapse.
2. You are not one to put on shows with your eyes. Those abandoned planets. You are not one to speak of earthquakes. You unceasingly tremble inside. People look at us like we are arsonists, like every place we go we set on fire. Your crucifix tattoo wards off our demons. For now.
3. Our bones send secret messages to each other as we shiver away from the light. Tonight, we do something that to the world looks like slow dancing, but we’re just holding each other up is all. We don’t care that the music has stopped. Let them stare at us all they want.
4. We stumble into the night. Duck into doorways. Our shadows take turns cornering each other. When we are cold, we siphon each other’s heat. When we are hungry, we eat each other’s silence.