We've both written so much story since then,

Since race car heartbeats and skin that burned against the stars

We were so close to the sky

So unafraid of falling, we dug holes below so when we let go

It would take longer to land

Our imagination thunderstormed

We were rain in a draught

The moon a mad scientist

Our chemistry making holes in the night

Somewhere in between washing machine feelings and anesthesia heartbreak

We found a way to pick up our pens

Our names have been written out of our new books

The ones we write with shaky chests and trusty spines

But in every chapter I find myself writing you In-between the lines

In metaphor and punch line

You live in the commas,

The parts that haven't found their end

Today, I ended my sentence with a period.