The Equator

I was looking at the floor. Searching for an indication someone had been there. An evelope in the dust that might contain. It's not like we ever slept. Together or with anyone else. There were just beds that yawned as we clung to the keyboard.

Every touch a compromise. Every words a judgement. There in your last suicide I found you. Too willing to live. It was every one's fault but your own. That the world didn't know why you were there.

Looking for words that couldn't see us. The soiled lingerie of love sneaks off to the laundromat. While we lose ourselves in calculating the volume of our experience.

Forging the perimeter with empty hands. Measuring the circumference by what I care to remember.

It's not accurate at all.

But it's close enough.

You're below the equator now. Best get used to the temperatures.