You are rocks and water talking,
you are elements left to tick,
you are pond scum and the dust from the beginning,
he tells me this,
leaning forward -
‘You are what stars do, eventually.’
Its raining outside and I have a sore throat,
we should have gone to bed
when we said we were going to -
hunched over screens,
over the same pages we have seen already.
I feel air rushing out my nose
and blood surround me.
We are talking rivers -
mountains that roll over at four am,
forests with ideas.
Volcanoes and ocean trenches
leaning on their left arm
who learnt another language,
who need to go to bed.