Circumference

Twelve. Eight. Two. Crush the flame and try on the window. Close was never near enough. Angels on their stilts. Scrape the moon.

With dirty claws and spent grins. The time trap. The numbers. The foul arithmetic. of touch. Spoiling the lie we had hoped to believe.

I saw myself. She was young and stupid. I saw myself, but could not warn her.

I liked this lost better when it had villains and heroes. Now it's just the pointed elbow. The sigh of the needle.

Ten. Six. Three. Look inside the box.

It's empty.