new york
when i collected my thoughts from your walls, those pearls had been scattered for hours. Still, your steps, loudly imminent on the heavy floor, remained oblivious to their delicate existence. you whispered—your hands move in linear parallelisms, often unattended. i noted—attention is fragmented pieces by definition. like passengers. or pearls.
when i collected my thoughts from your floor that evening, they’d been scattered for days, hot curled in a slow whorl of dark veins. or entangled skins from old carriers. you whispered—you carry a head full of ideas. i noted—but no heart.