Subcelestial—Ecchymosis
I have heard “mourir c’est facile.”
That, really, we’re about specificity, relevance.
But tonight, as usual, we’ve become
diffused: nothing held long & tender.
Quite honestly, I am not sure where
this will go, to what quiet wrecked end
or crowded edge it will find itself.
Technically, thoughts are subcutaneous,
so I’ve read. “Actually, even astronomical
systems suffer drag and tidal friction.”
Nobody feels this, so why say “suffer”?
Perhaps it’s a caress.
