your body was embroidery floss slinking through my loosening stitches, parting the fibres of a persian carpet - a thick, undulating, lugubrious forest canopy. i liquefy and gather beneath. a secret ocean beneath your pallid mantle. our little table of bones is brittle and transparent and we sit at it to eat a pear. sweet flesh of flower. i bite and you pick up a pairing knife and i pick stems off your plate and bury them in fronds. i am a god in yardage













