one minute.

my cigarette ash grows and bends

like the tower of pisa

it falls over and only

the bright, burning

red

is left over,

the remains of the old, crumbled building

i look up from the ash

and see that i am leaning too,

like the old tower of pisa

over and into the crack between our beds

blankets wrapping around

and cushioning my body

like soft black clouds

the smoke curls out the window 

and touches the wind,

making it tangible

showing its path as the smoke

drifts out 

and back in again

sound pierces my ear and i look

for a remote

a mute button

but realize that

those deafening tones

are hundreds of mixtures

of pure

silence

and tears well

and mouth quivers

and she looks over

as my eyes dart all around

and we sit still

as the sounds click and tap and buzz and

the room comes back to life

and the pounding of our hearts are once again

muffled

by the crackling frequency

of electricity.