Shark whiskers and platypus smoke tickle and crawl up the drain, into our bath tub leaving so many waxy traces.
Your absence is noted, your absence is ripe.
It smells like the sea - like a tangle of seaweed, like pre-history unwrapped, like blood, like a birth.
We sit and we wait and we spit and we swoon. This is excruciating and it's hurting my feelings.
The body of that smell surrounds the answer...I don't know - I don't know - I don't know.
Traces of your severance have pitted themselves in my gums. They, like your absence - are beginning to rot.
And all you want to do is sleep. And all you want to do is talk. And all you want to do is sever. And all you want to do is run.