we talked about paris
coming to me
seeing with me the maar hand you caught me red-handed scorching my willingness to complete my first displacement alone I hoped you wouldn’t.
We wanted to
see the maar white hand to admire the fingers it extends
towards the outside of the spiral it supposedly inhabits always eternalized on premium photo paper, fine grain lustre semi-gloss 251 grain grams per square meter of lust.
You didn’t want the corridors the un-premium staff those who don’t spit out what you paid for,
you wanted to gather yourself
grain by grain starting from the closest dune of silicon dioxide but of course how could you find the right actuator for the process if the only thing you succeeded in doing was getting one of those grains lodged under your fingernails you subsequently tiptoed away and got under whatever other fingernails you could find because you weren’t inside the spiral anymore anyway you could do whatever you pleased because it wasn’t of your doing it was your undoing