^ (n a v i g a t e) ^
1:16 p.m., 2002-11-13
my eyes don't feel the need to squint as the fumbling chessmatch of our gazes eases past the razor-thin inceptive nascent moments of another sleepless night. shine lights full of information down strands of glass and who would have thought it would spill out the other end. the leaky strings conducting pelvises in tightening rhythms, touched and wrinkled like tissue paper. trapped within the snap-and-hook of logic and humility, demuring away from a fitting end to what has become ritual to these hands, this face, this skin and those knowing eyes. hands atremble, face alight, and skin aglow, the basic crescendo spasms through cords and wires and reaches, grasping, to wet the scars and pores and wick up into the follicles of the night.
