here you don't make eye contact with anything resembling rain or a Tuesday

sequins used as bargaining chips on a planet the size of a melon

the opposite of sculpture isn't painting

nervousness abounds until further notice

fetishising your posture

a gentle snowing motion

late-night dancing in front of the tv screen

temporalities and a devotion to deep-gray icecream

all of the sudden it's 1977

a pomegranate detonates

we fought like roses and chrysantemums

there's a skill to stealing feelings

I wish I was an orchestra

swimming against the tide in a sea of Vaseline