The floor is cold. Hardwood with small
noises shuttering along each plank.
When I walk I walk blindfolded.
There’s only so much I can stand at once.
I don’t live in the same world anyone else does.
I can feel you in the house. Your breath
at night is my alarm. Something that can
pull me head first, from room to room.
If I can find you living, I’ll sleep.
If I can find you, I’ll stop.