The archives of the hippocampus flourish
Tangent memory seen through a pane of frosted rose-glass

Infinite ghosts of brainspun matter grey
Heed nothing from inarticulate moving lips

Hear without the oscillation of sound waves 
A knife sharpener beeline to the left hemisphere

You don’t have to talk to them. Look to the sky.
You can run. You can fall. You can kill. You can fly.

Rust iron hooks find their way between the ribs
Find purchase between the lungs

The final phantom with a familiar face reels you
Flinch. Here her heart’s equally exposed.

A promise of potentiality locked beyond the blood-brain barrier
The skin peel of heartbreak in microscopic minutiae

Man has the gift of rapid-eye, military-grade, neurons firing
Any conversation at 
any time in 
any place.

I love you.
                    I always have.
                                        We can be honest here.
                                                                            Until dawn.

The arctic bedsheet melts with tears
Rolling down from a lonely mountain range