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
i don’t even know
how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you