Beat

My days have less colour than yours now. I have closed my eyes.

Love is a physical thing, like running or getting drunk.

I have closed my eyes to hear things that wanted to be stared at: your eyes at a distance when we reunite, my bleeding hands after a fight.

I want to call life «sound». I want to stop saying I am alive, I want to say I am listening.

Our bodies make such perfect sounds at night. Let us try.

Cold blackness and the bright clash that gives birth to iron in red blood and life.

The cities still have chirping birds and gently squeezed oranges are louder than most words.

I could never had come up with words like silence and heat.

I use invented things and I want silence once again invented, please.

I want to have silences with you as I have photographs.

Like a passing train filled with silverware and cups. Like snow crunching, light buzzing, the sun a slowly burning cigarette.

I want our silence taken:

with us in it in silence,

but oh, so utterly awaken.