the colors trembled. sharp stones on loose chains. our skin listened quietly. as we said nothing.
we gathered the hours. like frightened soldiers. as our wars came to resent us.
these bodies full of fickle gods and crippled strangers.
the doorways write their poems. the windows draw their pictures.
we pick each other. bruised fruit on sunken branches.
we follow the map. swallowed by the creases.
charmed by the harmless thieves. seduced by the assassins.
the distance measures us. in fumbling conceits.
we throw away all the words that spent us.
and embrace the deficit.
time undresses. telling our lives in the transactions of our flesh.
the years chew through our skin.
leaving us exposed.
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