betwixt

you are lodged so delicately between two paragraphs, between two years, between two sets of teeth attached to one jaw and i will never have the chance to gobble you up.

i don't suppose i really truly care, but something about my insides insist that you're still there. you're not you know. not in my blood or lungs or eyes or arms. not anywhere that isn't far far away. i never loved you, but i wanted to.

vast

truculence will get you nowhere. you know where i think you are headed.
this is the first in a long line. a string of red, a strand of pearls made from your descendants- so very like the sand.