The landing, the night; just right.

Thriving on mistakes and our heels that hurt from mostly our retreat,

from backpedaling, away from the ordinary.

away from all the pivoting, and the dancing, and the sword fights,

but were I’m thankful we got this far.

In these clothes,

breathing these breaths

with these teeth,

drooling all the way through,

past the end credits even,

with those stab wounds.

Despite the spaces and all it took to get here.

Sifting though rib cages and right angles all to drive ourselves to the right answer,

buried into the sand next to my head ,

wishing I could breathe in the smell of the cut grass,

despite not having an end, or a head or even grass to cut.

despite not having a tail, at all,

despite not having a head tail, the entire time.