Meeting
/ after the sand had fallen through,
like them squeezing through and promising/
They ask if their voice has become fatter/
they reply it has become deeper/
It is the same thing/
no it is not, people become fat, voices become deep/...
At awkward angles, they remember as they paw through the maws of memory; the world coming into more focus with each step. Some angle acute, maybe thirties thirty fives thirtythreepointfives...
/how does it become deep, did you measure/
what/
the depth of my voice/...
Brushing the hip, when the dogs were unborn that kept thieves at bay. When their pool would be freezed, and then skated on, and then made snowdevils on, pudgy fingers make scars the shape that a bird flies...
/I measured when I measured/
when /
when you were not yourself and I had to reach deeper into the cookie jar/...
Their unfamiliar touch feel their skin infused with three-headed dogs, barking, waiting to bite, and a spark between them in the shape that birds fly,
like enzymes activating like puzzles solving themselves like shiv-sati consuming infinity.
~Ajay
9/9/2018