Mass x Distance

the odor of want fouls our world. in wicked increments. too minute to see. she assumes the judge is looking at her, though his eyes have been removed. the girth of the steps spreads inside her fists. a sweet abundance of nothing. gripping the void. in the pale maps tears have rendered.

her caution is mild. churning infants in the bristles of fetid slumber. her rage is strong. thick scabs on every hour. ripe to be picked. time is a thick fog. she cannot see through it. days better left for other scales to measure.

the lilt of the darkness. as it caresses her thighs. wrenching the pleasure from its prison. sharp needles and blunt grins. a foul reminder that the choice is only the beginning.

the monkey walks slowly as the air shudders against his breath. the stale turbulence of touch still unaffected. islands too small to see in the depths of these oceans.