Endgame
That hour before dawn:soaking blue chill
consumed over sheets
freeze outstretched fingers
expose back's arch;
will I die with you inside me?
Breath to my neck
words in echo
mesmerize;
ceiling shadows.
Slow, slow; this hour
no more, an ache of speed;
it's too quiet to scream
this would break;
this would break -
I swear.