I read nothing in her face
except perhaps
a bell pleasantly
sounding
while her hands diced
finer proportions of
the interstitial age
stretching before as
blue figurines
toppled in gardens
devoid of movies
and moonlight
her simile a smile
of purposelessness
in flight through water
winging her fate
limb upon limb
she climbed through my body
skin upon skin
was never enough