Just a thought about Jesse and Suze lying on the rooftop talking (my apologies for attempting to post twice. I cannot figure out this system. Hopefully this works!)
You talk twilight into the sky,
Spinning star yarns so fine and long
they reach down close enough
for us to weave them round
outstretched hands, gossamer threads
tugging us from this world into a plane
where there is no life and death, only
here and now. Framed by rooftop architecture,
our new world foundations disallow our need
for breath, mine caught mid chest
where you've laid your hand, and you willing
yours to start again. The scent of pine
and salt air reels us back in while the heavens
continue to spin slowly, whispering
their clandestine secrets we strain to hear
above the din of city.