At times when there is only breath between yours

and mine, my legs, your limbs,

where there may be time to eat and feast upon minutes

or miasmas, who knows.

But there are edges of her hands that have not touched,

anything other than her battles and worn velvetine gowns

drenched in blood.

That said, he was clasping his digital anecdote with nothing other than

buckets for feet, which were as cold as iced rivers.

High as the interstellar freeway,

my head collapsed like cotton sheets blown to the ground,

orange eyes saw graph paper skies and

quixotic neon capsules – I flew, not you.

You went somewhere else, apparently,

but I kissed your glass skin

and followed you to sleep.

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