Raiven

Lying in bed I think about you, your ugly empty airless apartment and your eyes. It’s noon, and tired I look into the rest of the awake day incapable of even awe, just a presence of particle and wave, just that closed and deliberate human observance. Your thin fingers and the dissolution of all ability. Lay open now to only me that white body, and I will, as the awkward butterfly, land quietly upon you. A grace and staying. A sight and ease. A spell entangled. A span. I am inside you. And so both projected, we are now part of a garden, that is part of a landscape, that is part of a world that no one believes in.