Inn

Meek light kisses the horizon
Of your shoulders — a shy, neon green;
Your details swallowed by shadows,
Your voice and mine low,
Hushed as a grumble, a sigh, a giggle,
A secret dissipated by the waning
Fog of fan, the ticklish
Trail of nails.

You are a dream, and so am I.
You are a little drunk, and so am I.

We are crawling, tossing, itching,
Pausing. A minute stolen from the
Prophet's clock, a tick slashed
From the spin of planets
Outside the windowsill.

We are what is eternity,
What is never ceasing.
What is essence, in its purest,
What is conscious in carbon.

All has died, and it is only us alive,
Us and the neon green light.