tailwind

Time goes by. Things like that happen. My toes curl inward of their own volition, and so do yours. We're circling, hackles raised, but our necks are growing weary. We'll wake up stiff tomorrow. We'll unroll like tentacles reaching across a briny mess. We'll hang these tapestries from our walls, to signal a loud and resilient "yes".

Spattering talk is multiplicity. These soft words are incantations. My eyelids are window weights; yr limbs beside mine could lull me into hovering sleep. Unline my face, relax my strained forehead. I am too young, and too old. I forget where my good graces went. I tell people the same things every day, but what's the difference? I am consumed with inertia. She said, we must have a tailwind; how lovely.