what’s in front of you? it covers the bed wrinkles heart, intestines, the things i say to myself when i wake i want smooth blank please . let me be

They walked slowly down the corridor streets, eyes looking ahead for the edge of the land. Dying embers on charred wood still smoking, cracking between curled fingers. Both the city and night, quiet. Two figures black against a growing ocean. A long breath, ribs, shoulders, chest, rising and falling across…