how long do you wait for the feelings to come back? when you live in a glass box and rain runs down the sides, and you think the glass might at least begin to steam?

when outlines thud and forms bounce against you like a bruise, then will the feelings come back? where words mash like soup and where’s the shape in that?

while you check every desire since it speeds the steam and if the glass box glazes any further, i will forget the contours of your face.

when time sits on your chest playing hand games, you wonder — have I always felt like this? when will the feelings come back?

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