the zipper broke. the naked sold her. piece by piece. to strangers, lovers, enemies, friends.
the choice was loud. but she didn't listen. corrupted by low bridges over diminishing depths. thieves in their thick bandages. bartering blood for simpler assassins.
she took the hour by force. flesh telling its stories much too loudly. silent of touch.
the bruise lingered. embedded in the bone. long after meat concealed the wound. it remained just below the surface.
hope is a fever from which we seldom recover.
where we go. the map doesn't fail us. we were always lost.
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