Sitting in the light

Sitting in the light cone of the lamp I can see her feet reaching out of the dim, stacked heel on ankle through the glass of the table, undistorted, rubbing together out of time. Her shins taper into the shade of a dress and a body, tapering into nothing visible. The territories that crush my mind lay strewn across every day but are absent. Undiscoverable territories hang in the questions stamping in my thoughts. I will never occupy the chambers of my heart, the crevasses of black cold ocean, countries filled with people, alive perhaps, and the paradise of thoughts behind the eyes I see glimmering. They feel far away. They feel impossible. This apartment tomb is someones persistent memory. Every unknowable shadowy supposition, equivalent to the lingering presence of a world that is mostly empty, begins to make my body disappear into vapor. I face another person, a completeness. I face nothing. I can feel her breathing me in and out. I am controlled. My questions only fill me with more and more empty space.



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