Temporary Gods

 the quiet swells. we become who we always were. the tender surges. we shrug off those stale skins. 
everything is erased. except the core.

we are the eye of the storm. violence raging  all around, but we're calm. we are the tines of the fork. piercing empty plates. 

we collect the remains of these heavy skeletons. prepared to confront the choices that led us to them. 

our flesh as fragile as it is stubborn. our bones as heavy as they are soft. 

time stirs in its bed. awoken by our ripening despair. 

gravity loses its grip.

we're weightless again.

slipping into the charms of loss. scribbling in ink on memory's damp walls. 

the flood arrives quietly. everything is gone. nothing is lost.