life is full of narrow corners the body is ripe with impotent frictions.
we are solvent. as we spend each other. soiled by the selfish transactions of touch.
the lilt of temptation an ugly song.
we are gentle as we pull on those stitches. the wounds we'd thought healed. still fragile enough to open again.
we dare not move. Still they bleed all the same.
time's fickle contrition as sweet as it is sour.
we're monsters nursing our broken horns. as the fairy tale turns against us.
we're narrators scavenging for words.
from the bellies of wolves.