Contracting Orbits

Dominoes. as linear as our perception of the world . Fingers. Moist with intent. And the things that lie between. Cold hands struggle to determine. What is the difference. Forward. Back. Simple breadcrumbs draw their jagged maps on vacant skin.

the world didn't end like we were promised.

so we remain. fickle valves debating with a flood of when. we knew all these strangers.

the world didn't stop like we had assumed it must.

arrogant children with too much knowledge and not enough experience. time came and went. disregarding the milestones of mortality and courage. time scores its path equally deep in each person's wrists. only some of us bleed.

the machine is swift and indifferent. a callous god not at all of our image. the chase is long and uneven. but constant is the hunt. 

hard things in the crust of her fist. playing each stone. as if every wall is deaf. the hollow songs of
touch. repating in an endless echo. like the entropy inside a wormhole.

we go too far.

the distance between us still lingering. long after we've found our way back.