we stand under the icicles as the winter slowly forgets. counting each drop until. 

our simple lies complicate us. burdened by the weight of our skin. 

killers with touch as our only weapon. 

our breadcrumbs leading us back to empty graves. 

there are no colors in the density of circumstance. there are no windows in the sober of if. 

in the auction of trust, these bodies are merely payment. 

time slips under our skin. a curious poison. ripe with dull songs whose lyrics we've forgotten.

the moments fill our throats. sweet candy that shatters as we try to taste it.

our hunger betrays us. the fickle math of a borrowed touch. 

the animals tug on their leashes. impotent predators polish their claws.

no faces. no names. no hunt.

just the hum of when as the void resolves.

and the lingering purchases of touch that leave us wanting. 

time sold its candy. our coins already spent. we spun. hammers in the thick of expectation. shattering every step. 

distance built its boxes. our everything inside. we scratched our names across the top. and earnestly closed the lid. 

we stumbled. slouching predators suffocating under the weight of our hunt. 

the table collapsed as we set the meal upon it. 

the moment bit down. the skin was broken. 

fortified by loss. 

we swallowed the blood. 

monsters denied their claws. 

the gravel whispered her name. the miles painted her skin.

she'd gone too far again.

the wind drew its pictures in her eyes. the world kept shouting.

but she'd long ago stopped listening.

her villains flourished. counselled by conceit.

but her time machine stalled.

and she finally forgot what it was she had built it for. 

 we removed the staples and let the skin fall away. scavengers in costumes of bone and blood.

time told us. bruised by the mechanics of why. actors on a collapsing stage. 

we said the words. our voices corrupted by the arrogance of intent. 

brief intersections where the flesh has sovereignty.

we collected our grief. in nickels and dimes. betrayed by the generosity of strangers. 

the names are forgotten. their faces long gone. 

still those choices gnaw their way through us.

shattered bridges that still tempt us to cross. 

 something soft that broke hard. as we turned into the wind. our journey curdled by the sun. 

touch is a thief. 

the end told us in stuttering truths. heavy zippers on the threshold of grief. coming undone. 

flesh is a stranger. 

something quiet, but still heard. the strangle of time. as it nullified what once was. 

the chase wore us. stains and all. 

we went deeper still. until the forest choked on our breadcrumbs. 

we shrugged. 

content to be lost.