Sometimes it is similar to a balloon--
Each tensile point of its tent is sponsored
By the wild air.
This is also true about the night. Lovers fill them
With wishful "goodnights"; so much goes into each.
Finally one day we'll be forced to rename it;
The stormy "I love you" place will need
Us to call it something.
Your breath bricks up and floods the floor; the architecture
Falls on me. My breath is lost.