Were you the angel hung above the cockpit? Gathering dust on the imitation velvet? I suspect you lost the script somewhere over the Atlantic. Or did the turbulence just feel strangely romantic? I’m calculating the currency of patience, Watching you tune out the emergency stations. The steel bends. The steel… bends... The barometer creates a fog inside the lens. It’s a slow-motion collision of intuition and precision. So, tell me, did the ornithologist inspect the fracture when you fell from the grace of the manufacture? Did he splint the wing with a scientific touch, or just sneer that gravity was asking for too much? And if I stepped off the edge of the bridge tonight, would you pull me back from the broken life, or just sit there and watch the stone and marrow collide Let it settle. Let it start. Don’t overthink it. Too much. Don’t overthink it, love. Descend past the frequency, past the noise, to the riverbed where the heavy truths are stored. Every scar is just a receipt I kept, every silence is a dissonant concept. Words turn to sediment, heavy and thick. My hands aren’t empty, love — they know the heft of the brick. So, tell me, did the ornithologist inspect the fracture when you fell from the grace of the manufacture? Did he splint the wing with a scientific touch, or just sneer that gravity was asking for too much? And if I stepped off the edge of the bridge tonight, would you pull me back from the broken life, or just sit there and watch the stone and marrow collide The patience of water on rock. The click of the unpicked lock. Gravity’s final mark. Gravity’s final mark.
