You have a heart of gold and I am kneeling in your bloodstream panning for the only thing that has ever felt like home.

Last night I saw your ghost pedalling a bicycle with a basket towards a moon as full as my heavy head and I wanted nothing more than to be sitting in that basket like ET with my glowing heart glowing right through my chest and my glowing finger pointing in the direction of our home.

And we were Banksy on an overpass in New Orleans spray-painting porch lights on the hurricane. We were welcome mats for the un-forgiven. We never sold our windpipes to make a living. We were the letters sent to the wrong address, but opened anyway. We opened anyway.

That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.

What Gods do you believe in? I'll build you a temple of mirrors so you can see them.

Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.

Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.