data points, windows without curtains.
codes that kiss your symmetry, a monotony of instinct.
understanding how you came to this place
and how you'd leave it.
as a dream you took along whose words were playthings
swept the room in lovely waters.
a personal one whose hesitation was exhausted.
/"letter written on the 27th of october, harvest moon, nearly perfect sky after having rained, the radio left on" from the book dear body: by dan machlin