#

The lens glances over
in its dull glaze,
stupified.
The granules seep in deeper
The swell beats and beats.
Into a caramel pine, slatted
of the revisit.

You don't know them, not them
It's not linear that correlation
Yet it brings you back there.
Scuffles.
Darkness, panes of thick soupy colour
Swirling across the drain
Another?

They're mad. We're here already
but they're leaving and want to stay,
so be it then. We aren't happy
or with another but us.
Grotesque soft elation.

Inner
Outer
to wit.