Birds watch skyfall slowly.
You are around wrapper on caramel,
and shapes dip, pitch, and reverse.
Wrapped on we flow rounds until
sleep and clouds shower their meteors
into greeting rays of sun when alarm goes off, 
but I say no to the headboard in three successive
pops! and you laugh, happy to oblige—
the price of exhaustion approaches drowning
in chocolate, salt, and cherries.
I see smoke rising from the oaks, 
the rise of heat has not fired us
from the night’s spent shards into new pots
which I fill with grain for the bird between us.
She sings madly. Truly, her deep train whistle
signals derailment, eyes rolling in her head,
hands clutching the ground to stop her plummeting.