i am a break in your skin. an open split of wetness and the metallic taste of blood. but we still spill out of ourselves, only to meet the other at the edge of our aged foreground. i am a taste on your lips, a memory of movement across that softness, the faint touch of old breathing and an abandoned attempt to deconstruct; bare our naked selves like so. i am nothing to you but tiredness and the shifting thoughts before a sigh.