Dry ice

Often a night
dark and tense
enough to hear this
house
breathe with me.

alone or otherwise,

with a sigh my tv
creaks, to remind
nothing is as true
as being alone-- or

the conversation
where to get this
drug or that drug
will suddenly
stop . . .

muted tv, the walls
seem to crack
with pressure, like
smoking ice.
beating hearts beneath.

she pulls a cigarette
from her lips, trailing
from her limbs, fluid.
--inseparable,
her wrist bent by the ear.
she smiles, i blink
in the deadwhite smoke.

light my lighter. hear
the furnace kick on
deeply in blue walls.

dark and tense and jungly
a house breathing with me:
smoke, flames, paint,
drywall that curves around
chemical hearts,
wallpaper-patterned
eyelids.

that fiery furnace
commingled to a
body-clock.

when i can't sleep
thinking of you
-trapped-
inside these walls . . .
it reminds me there is
passion,
even in these
pillows:
even in death.

amen.