everyone dies

"breathe,"

he tells her, because

her lips are bluer
than her eyes

that is all he can
think to say-

their hands stem
into each other
like cross-stitches,

lily-white and
puckered with veins

and

"breathe, you have to breathe."

{she can't
hear him
over her
own
singing}

"mm," she hums
and it comes out
like broken song,
melodies stripped
of their warmth,

thin and hopeless-

like a piano
of bones.

"okay." he says,
tracing her skin.

time is running
on weeping
heels,
and its
like he's
looking
at her
from behind

a wall of glass

all he
can do is
watch as she

d i s a p p e a r s

"there's rain
in your hair."
he gasps, because
the sky is bluer
than her lips
which are bluer
than her eyes

and they
are closing,

slowly,
gently-

her hair is
as wet as his eyes,

and all he can think
to say
this time
is

"oh,"