Scared of

Is it so scary?
The hair on the ceiling
where heat rises to the occasion
of this makeshift winter

They stand on the edge.
To tip or be saved
where the wind is all that matters,
splitting insects midair.

Your kiss is enough
laying on the spoiled mattress,
all the time in the world has passed
underneath my fingertips.

Hold us softly,
jewllery jaded, looking green,
as though a life was lost and never found
and their memories had collapsed.