Things happen.

and he said to me i was feeling just like that on dreary friday, saturday morning all
the evening gloomy sunday

just
like
that

heavy-hollow
heavyweight

it was as if
as if in the end, down it all, i was to be always a sailor in dry land, like the owl in daylight

longing for, i don't know, for the heavenly connection to the decadent and symmetrical

(to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night)

or failing to obtain that, just some solitude because –i broke the flow of his words with my teeth, said, there's no action without inaction,
my chest; something in it thumped, a space lodged within my heart like a hollowed peach: flesh sweet and juicy, but centre empty–

–my eyes (so heavy) sighed closed–

and now i see you were alone too and it would be somewhat funny if it
weren't so sad, that we're both wearing a mask and striking a deal with
each coming night

and so i wandered away from the lights (my heart the shape of a begging bowl)
without even a single firefly to keep me company.