we’re small as the miles peruse. a conceit of color and apathy. all naked bones and heavy skin. as time accuses.
the bargains of flesh more costly than we expected.
we’re liars with every word at our disposal. we’re magicians with broken wands.
wagering each moment against the nex.t. playing their grief in slow songs.
as if we don’t hear the music. as if we’ve forgotten the words.
even as we devour the sweetness of each other. the sour of time still lingers in our throats.