woman in white pulls an eyebrow out of line.
grout between your toes;
we are silent and the
clack of sturdy heels
falls around us as a knell. we are still.
palpitations are the beat of
words yet to be unsaid; orwell and his
'what can be done,
cannot be undone', but it is
only the implications of power
that follow us like
the dream of death. knowledge
is fear.
and the tiles hear us breathing.
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