we flirted with the decimals. fractions of ourselves.
gravity spent us. in sharp cliffs and cheap equations. the numbers more thieves than math.
we were alive until we weren't. that's the fact of it. the guiltless confession of flesh as we crawl out of these tattered boxes.
all empty pens and shattered glass.
fussing with maps we still don't understand.
pointing at places that were never there.