existence becomes
a soft lens
a distant campfire
a weak cup of tea
no less real when we are
chest to spine
always simple
always being
always needing more words for
correct
right
mint
flawless
fitting
true
perfect
an endless launch
into shared egotism
good morning untitled
what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as