The light dances across the floor–abstractly in ways more various than the thoughts crossing my mind. Constantly changing, morphing, colliding into the next. Where does it end?
The sporadic continuum of an endless thought.
a thoughtless mistakes, carefully made.
My hands work their way
into the fabric we once slept under
my knees sink into the soft spot
where we cuddled
The long nights we talked
Cheeks, my neck dripping onto my forearms
Salty water helps the integration
of skin into fabric
With each rolling tear, my body
becomes one with the last place I held you