I build a castle from the empty Capri Sun cartons that gather by the bedside,
and you and I watch box sets and play pretend as the day dims and becomes night.
You were supposed to be the sensible one,
saving me from myself
sunlight in sweet sorrow,
but I spiral so much quicker when I’m by your side.
I sing jazz from your soft sheets,
your lips on my cheek,
red lipstick, smeared against my soul,
and despite the hectic chaos,
I think I might be happy.