I.

His voice like cider.

On my tongue’s tongue. My lips’ lips.

Drown rather than run.

II.

Rest Alone Again.

Born in cold, peace, flurry, fear.

We are the souls, though.

III.

Hours cake over lids.

Bleeding? Better shower twice.

Have Faith in bruising.

IV.

Empty, stripped Wild West.

Every Snowchild’s day dream.

Blinding Lights like suns.

V.

Now I have questions.

About Vegas, how’d you know?

Emptiness transforms.