beguiled inside a tiny box — tightly entwined with a vast abundance of shredded lace and silver filigree. i swathe this delicately around a coagulated, obsolete limb. tiny snowflakes dwindle further and further down until they are well acquainted with the warmth of your tissues. they melt with ease on your ailing, ethereal flesh. my brittle hands,composed of permafrost and porous diamonds, are capable of holding these minuscule molecules up to the phosphorescent light so that we can become familiar with all of their diverse chasms and divergent eyelets. curious, we trudge deeper into an abyss so powerful that the zeal engulfs our mere existence. “i am not a real being and reality is not an annexation.” your lips purse after this and i languidly contract and wrinkle into a mere icy minim; a modicum that you fortuitously inhale with sudden ease and dismal regret. “where have you gone?” i hear this while i evanesce in your throat. swallowed, i travel into your stomach. pregnant with surmise and conjecture, i meekly wait to be reborn.