electrical wires shrink and freeze. then crack and shatter.
the lights go out. the street turns dark. metallic feet walk through the ice. and then they meet.
frozen fingers touch frost bitten faces. "now i see".
the ground crunches. the air stretches. wine glasses smash and the moths chew through sheets.
"there you are".
there.you.are.

the tall umbrella rests against the wall. in the roach infested kitchen of an apartment that is regrettably 50% kitchen. 5 stories from the street and 1 story from the clouds.
in a bed. of desert wool and indian patterns. spare wire and electric tape. no sheets and a stained mattress. he slept and she finished the wine. staring out imaginary windows. skin burns and they both remember underground rain, leather boots weighed down with water, falling from the ceiling. and. my god, not enough coffee to last the week.
eyes staring at teeth, teeth biting at skin, and skin feeling selfishly like nothing.

there was something about that bus ride. blood running through the transmission and leather seats breathing like lungs. a general sense that novocaine was being run through the vents.
back on the fifth floor. suitcases hit the tile. records scratch and echos bounce off walls. ghost coffee is served in broken tea cups and calls returned on the telephone whose wire was cut three days ago.
all the while clouds hang just below the ceiling. filling up with dreams sad enough to make them rain.
a week later, a window is left open and the clouds ran away with your dreams. and also some of the better china.