when i open the door. and comb the streets of this city. for any resemblance of you. me. a memory. this eye lash. torn into a wish. anywhere that could have been here. i can't find the canvas that might walk me to you. all those nights i spent constructing love strange and beautiful into the very skin of you. washed away. and i am left with nothing. but lost time. this one regret. for no man. no picture shows or solitary showers deliver me any closer to the you that i knew. than this moment. when i suck lemon juice from a tall clear glass. and listen to the world on the other side. moving. i want to shower you electric. make your ears buzz. your head rock. i want you to wish you had new words for the word fantastic. when i open the door and see you sleeping there. in my bed. that is our bed. that is no-man's-country. i lose my foothold. on the definition of the word: circumscribe. to be with you is like taking all of my worst fears and then wrapping cold tired self in cold restless blankets. i search the caverns of you to find the switch. light the fire. but people aren't so simply bodies electric. and finding the way home on our own terms, it seems, can be cold and lonely, at times.