We fly high to find the lost. Outside, the last bits of clouds. Illusions of faces and places. No breathing spaces left. I wear a dress out of the suitcase. He buys us time at the Grand Millennium. Behind the brass hotel door with others in identical rooms we unpack two hearts we forgot we had and let them bleed their weight down the sliced floors. I watch him gasping for air. He watches me too.
Hotel Room Nightmare