Laughing during Morrissey songs even when she is healing low.
Staying in arms even when arms abandon for typewriters tested and rusted.
Drinking silently in shadows even when whispers make waves.
Loving me for days even though she doesn't have to.
I am losing surprise when her eyes kill me twice.
there is no need for you to not smell like old books.
I bite my arms.
I'm gonna write about her for two whiskeys and then move on.
to the bookstore and beyond.
Leaving the only clue as a copy of a book by Roberto Bolano on her doorstep.
We never existed accept between sheets.