the heat wore its halo. ripe with epiphanies. the scrape of purpose not withstanding. petty gods in their heavy robes counting the bridges between when.
we were only young for a moment and then it abandoned us. orphans of possibility with our nooses made of hope.
the intersections were to permanent. weights at every turn. the colors carelessly collected. simple blades at the throat of every turn. weak enough to bend. strong enough still to break.