If these stairs are to be scaled, endless as they are, broken by flatness, masquerading as respite -- we must be, at ease.
At intervals, instead of eating, we would rollick, until music was memory, and then submit, to blank sleep, our nakedness an oblong sculpture, a clean sheath, to the refuse, that blots, my name.
At long spaces I scarcely notice you, our only encounters my ephemeral greetings, en route to an aged bathroom, that offers a mirror, I avoid, or before which, I contort, my face.
On occasions of lightness, I speak to you in friendly tones, and stroke your back. But invariably I remain briefly, because, I cannot tolerate, your licking.
As I come to admire your graceful movements, my comprehension – that our constructions can disintegrate at any instant – shifts to emotional knowledge, for a moment. And then I realize – likely I am again seeking refuge.
I cannot discern meaning from sensations of cold water -- shock, dread, exhilaration, clarity -- on my head.