Because everyone deserves a roof over their head

"If I were heavier, I could keep you," she said. "Like 'Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss,' you wouldn't drop these arms revolving your face."

Under the 28th floorboard, we're feeling the walls for each other. And all of our ghosts are fixed with sheets on a clothesline, draping near to our raspberry lawns, in this blue and red, and yellow, Lego city.

They're shouting to us about our sprained wings. Screaming, where will you crash, and will your scraps settle as beautifully, without me?

We're blotting our dewy cheeks with every manuscript of original head bumps and fast-forwarding. Looking for the sweet we've already had but didn't know we had. On similar lips of grape-soda bottles. Seeking the right vein, on the right arm, with the same coordinates as a decade ago. Writing in the same language on the same college-ruled notebooks filled with the same notes of key points of five years ago. Theories granulated, rendered, and spread on my jaw line until I'm smothered. Thickening and almost conquering and adding up to the kingdom of she without him and him without her, and in reverse. 

"I will not be left a stencil, watching this turn into the most misshapen noun," she said. "I am fresh goose bumps, fitting into your pegged blocks, your cavities, trying not to duck, ready for building, and commingling colors until there's the bluest shade of safe."