i’ve become a pile of addictions and gestures that echo in my mind and throughout my body, to remember and breathe, and back again, the action returning to thought, infinitely, from my lips to my hand to your lips, the stutter frame and stammer, repeating again until touched and frozen, never an end but a new beginning, an angle not yet considered.
(i’m being attacked by a monarch butterfly, is it attracted to the cigarette or its bearer?)