like the dead

i think i am supposed to think less, because you told me when it is over it is over, and i asked what is there? what is after the edge? how is it that at the end of some ends, there is a crack, a light? you told me it was gobbledygook, another reason why this was what it wasn’t. i looked above your head. there were stars somewhere tonight that rolled in the dark like a summer mango slice on a thirsty tongue. the fluorescent bulbs were too bright in here, though. wasn’t there also clouds forecasted for the region? you did not bring a coat. you would be cold. your lips would crack under your own weightless, earthy breath.