We describe it without describing it.

We live it without living it.
Somehow,
without living it,
we live it.

Reckless—
we wreck on purpose.

The new emerges
from the familiar.

We run,
but it chases.

Still,
we want to be caught.

Drawn from nothing,
gathered in nowhere,
everything begins.

Stacks of dust roam the earth,
collecting themselves
into something—

begetting memories
and forgetting
in equal measure.

It dances across the skin,

a reminder
that the things we cannot see
still exist.

Then it is gone.

And so are we.

Red-lipped dirges.
Hips sway
and grind.

Desire flows from the aether,
down through our legs,
until it taps our toes.

Purpose evolved
to pleasure.

Then back again.

It comes from nowhere
and ends nowhere.

Matter,
actually,
doesn’t matter.

Molecules bicker
and fight

because at least
that’s exciting.