To Miss Catherine

Hide out, it's certainly a safe place.
With the lights out and blankets shielding bodies from the cold.
I know that there exists polaroids of clothing that you used to wear.

Your skin constructed cities as it flaked into the stitches and the seams.
Dearest, you've left me with a closet where the moths digest a promise
that I'll never tell a soul and I know that you know that.

We stack bricks we're building a brand new city
where we will sleep softly and underwater.
Where we are all the same,
we're breathless sculptures.