You and I circle around the body theme. Psychological dictionary. Mother. The thought leader. Maybe you think I’m cunning, only I’m abstracting in crystal clear form. I’m being sucked in. Wolf hours is where you reach me, you know that I am awake. I usually get annoyed, but with you I’m more curious. Tell me something, I want us to hear the insides of ourselves, like in a float tank, like figuring out boundaries, like the opposite of penetration. You tell me you’ll come over anytime for that. We were lying on the ground with our faces towards it (black, wet) our faces pushed into place by cushiony things. We were the same person. I could feel the sensation of the weird pillow also through you. HELP, I wrote it down. Then I wrote a few sentences about how I could understand your suicide. Last time I saw you was here on these steps. We smoked cigarettes, I looked at your eyes – wide open. Light source eyes are opening, she says she believes in goodness. Didn’t believe it. Can’t relate to light source. Can’t relate to forced light source idea. Relating to wetness, hard concrete pressed into my face. I really don’t like forced light source ideas. You. Not you, HER.