signed in clay fingerprints

cloaking themselves in

the fabric of time,

my thoughts weave patterns

until I’m left an empty stomach and

a sunken set of eyes.

 

Even so, I can clearly see

the two of us as we work

towards an existence unknown;

towards expanded imaginations and

deepened perceptions.

 

like bookends

we might never need average the score,

our means forever apparent and crudely bound–

 

their strong spines proudly tattooed,

their titles written across their flesh.

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