I write the words radiator cap so many times on a torn sheet of lavender paper that it stops making sense. While I wait. The not-silence of the open line makes me want to kill myself. During all the conversations I've had with people about nothing. I keep dreaming about dogs. And the wide expanse the noise of metal on metal makes. When it hits. Deep under the bed of lower right teeth. And sometimes at night when he's asleep. Nothing but the lackluster bedroom air between bodies. I stare at the shape that should be his face. Until he turns to me. Unreal. And all those horror-shows and roses turning brown in vases settle down like a dead lover's weight in the chest. Sucked to sink and lie waiting. With the scent of rotted wood in the nose. When all I want are sour lemon kisses and strong palms on backs and the occasional middle-of-the-night-fuck. As if rocking like boats might make a morning come to find me sleeping safe. In a dream where you not torn into blood and guts pieces when I am chains and teeth rattling. Circle me. Please. Tear me unafraid.