Dirty fingernails and cracking cuticles.
Misaligned bones and swollen joints.
Take a breath and hold it.
Look closer.
Fingers touch under the beating of wings.
How long have we sat here?
Tracing lines. Glass to lips. Ankles burning.
This strange place. With its slowworms and redwings. Peonies and lemon balm.
Rising and falling into new, unchallenged faces.
Swallowing pathing slabs and borders.
Its fists pulling at the seams.
Are you angry with the space you have been given?
