Residual-Detritus

while polyphony whistled around the previous harrowing corner, You won’t feel it in this curve. she tasted the tears as they crested his curling lips. it wasn’t so much that he withdrew, as he could no longer hold his head upright. he thought of how he had tortured his younger brother when his brother still had bright blond hair. Sitting on his chest – upper arms pinioned to the freshly cut grass by his knees. Leaning over his face, and sliding his hands past either side of his brother’s confidently defiant face – fingers interlaced behind the back of his head. Lift up. Then release. Head suspends momentarily, then is lowered gently back onto the grass. The younger smiles. Undaunted, the older lifts repeats; bringing his brother’s chin up to touch his chest lift and release. Again, the head easily lowered back into the soft, barely itchy grass. After the XXth repetition, exhausted?neck muscles disobey and cave to gravity’s occipitally thumping suck to the earth. Enough. Sovereignty transferred to a tremulously daunted will. Neck and upper torso leveling my face near the reproaching fiber of her lips – then feign collapsing retreat of nonreciprocal strain. petal crushed stain of regret fed to the old, ceramic gods. ?While turning blurry vision towards the waxing interloping vacuousness, the last of the hot coercion spills in rivulets of steam staining my face – puddling in my ear