the snuffbox of an inkling dawn has dissipated
(gone astray)
in the wee hours of this sublime human interaction.
communicating with our lips and our tongues-
words disgorge forth with lachrymose contentment
and we react in a manner
similar to those we aim to please.
the dark felt like foam
filling the empty space between the walls and my back
to cushion the loss that otherwise might have consumed
my company.
between my thoughts and my words
are antithetic moral fireflies
whose captivity suffice to indulge the simplicity in my plight.
we contract and expand.