Fair Flying

You find me on the balcony, where we froze the sun, where clouds made us drunk, where I now drop tears on new friends, who catch them in their mouths. When they laugh, the sky cracks and your voice carries on—a plow through snow—after winter’s gone.

I wake to rotting echoes in a throbbing world—a slipping spine. Unfurling vertebrae, clenching nerves, swirling bones unceasing—wedged between a hopeful skull and toilet seat. Knives tuck me in—s plit ego and will.