weighting the heroin rope

[gothenburg]

nothing but mud and gravel between an angel and a downfall
she sat on my shoulder whispering to me in sparks and lightning
about the fires we could start
and the cities we'd burn down
weaving strands of bad timing
twisting and diving, clinging and climbing
hand over hand into her hair
handfulls of memory
inhale. reflex.
remember to breathe, looking away
as if it were only air
carried on the breeze
raw fingers seeking a flaw
an inconsistency to befriend white knuckles
steady hands can catch a falling foot
and when the avalanche has passed
turn your back to the open sky
face the face
and trust the heroin rope in my hands