The sky is blue as
ever,
but it's floating
my feet,
below

where grass and
flowers should be,
where the reflection of the sun should be
flashing
smiles on the silk of our
sheets. . .
but,
past the sun
past the clouds
and past the
sheets,
all I see
is a bed of dead roses
sprouting from the cracks of concrete.

The sand is soft as
ever, above,
but it spills

like sugar from
the same place stars should be-
glistening,
showing me the perfect vision
of lights
that ignite
the spark I still have for you. . .
but,
past planets
past the moon
and past the stars we
used to view
is a crumbling heaven
no longer made for two.

I hope the world makes sense again,
so-
together,
we can make it through

this.