Written in the dark internetless space of a few weeks ago. formatting is of course fucked.

you ramble into the hollow nest I’ve made on a dripping branch without punctuation dragging your tongue along light bones have you found marrow yet or is this a surface scrape a slight lifting of movable skin where the blood has slipped out forgetting for a second to be inside of to be on the other side of breathing
you we collect the yellow strips of cellophane from cigarette packs the hamburger wrappers the bits of tinsel to weave into walls knitting with hard tongues a solid home on a drying branch spending hours bandaging our foot our leg our chin our neck our belly our knee our elbow our ear to keep the blood in to keep piling the walls with mud until they’re warm enough