On the warm wool, among Nordic symbols, giggles and mandarins, two hollow sanctuaries pull me in. Bony surface, smooth, recklessly thin.
I trace the patterns of lost vigor.
His beak, open, softly arced.
As if his last breaths were the questions I’ve lost the answers to.
So out of place, placed here so stubbornly.
Into my grasp, as if meant to be.
With each passing blink, I move closer to your essence, closer than you yourself could ever be.
Reaching beneath where your skin once lived.
Past the things you thought you were.
It makes me wonder,
Is this what she has been doing with me?