as we labour over our disembodiment I lose distinction of what is “yours” or “mine” and together we regress to limbs of the etherworld creature



its capacity to be something worth keeping even if I'm to exist under a whole generation of feet has always kept me safe                  but never intact


  so quietly that it's barely a movement                   barely a whisper just mouth out the breaths of sound that falter on your lips I still hear you         I can hear you          desperate to hold it in