workhouse/horse 

you asked me if i ever stop.
it was midnight & i was trying
to write another version of us into existence.
one where we lived in a snow globe
& both got rich off ideas.
our apartment lost windows
every week. i tried to keep them open.
stacked books in their mouths. 
i went down to the train station just to breathe.
the pigeons would say,
"you are no longer in love."
i begged them to stop. i told them,
"i am not ready."
we had one key which lived
in our mouths. taking turns
reaching for the teeth. 
on weekends we stopped laughing.
stopped taking the train into 
the graveyard. hungers that turned
into needs. please make me into a kite.
please do not read my texts.
let me keep my secrets & you can
keep yours. the windowless 
apartment where everything that entered
became trapped. trapped knees.
trapped dogs. trapped horns. 
once, i tried to scale the walls
of the hallway. my foot went through
the drywall & on the other side
i found thousands of photographs.
they were all of us. i stuffed them back
inside, urgent & terrified.
i thought i could work enough
to make something new. that miraculously
the eyes would open again 
& light would turn us into ivy. 
instead, i lit a candle. saw your face
tangerine. you asked me again,
"do you ever stop?"