Variable Constants

Purple confessions in the toes of her heels. Undressing a touch at a time until. Everything is far away. The distance measured in people. Not steps.

The colors concede to the darkness.

Beige cancers boiling between her lips. Control assumes her. Press the key. Keep pressing it until there is a response. The virus is only a side effect of all this sickness. The hours are just puppets in the rambling soliloquy of time. I catch the wormhole at its smallest apogee. It takes a picture of us. Before we were the future.

Whoever we were then, we weren't us.

The past such a benign conundrum. Often misused to further the logic of lonely people.

Time holds its breath. For as long as it can.

But I still drown it.

My constant varies. Everything else stays the same.