it is 4 am and she cannot get the bloody imprint of his fingernails
out of her skin. she can feel voices inside her bones, screaming out;
whether for departure or for him, she cannot discern.
some nights she sees stars on her fingertips
and can taste nebulae being formed on the tip of her tongue.
when he's around, she swears that she is a black hole collapsing,
swears she can feel herself twist into the negative space between seconds.
we sleep in the mouths of wolves,
use canines like pillows,
weave ourselves betwixt their vocal chords.
some people can never stop howling,
voices lost in the gaps between the stars.