The evening we saw a white blood cell squirming across a black sky in the south he lost his key. Since the day we met, the only other thing we’d lost together was sleep. Still we’d always wake at the same time. Is the first heavy blink of the morning loud enough to wake the lover beside you?
It was separate from him: the synchronized seeing, losing, waking, losing sleep. It was something extraterrestrial maybe. Like a string tugging sound from knuckles I mean, the action of a piano, or a double rod pendulum creating orbit, joined by a nexus at its core
He’ll ask what our nexus might be, how can it bear the stretching of its limbs either side
stretching all the way across the world
Don’t joints decay from hyper-extension? Today he told me my knees are pretty
Connective lens, is that the joint the knee the middle? collective hallucination? Losing our UFO virginities together. That evening with the—
What is a white blood cell doing in the sky? Traversing gulfs of the troposphere above a park downtown. It’s supposed to be inside a body, scrimmaging infection between bone marrow and lymph tissue. Did we want to pull it down, split it like Alice’s mushroom to swallow, make him live forever. Like PLL a secret is a nexus.
They say if you choose to take the signs, the signs will take you.
Miraculously, we find the key in hours of grass after walking back across a city I’d been to twice
In the south, in almost complete dark our tiny halos of phone light searching hours lengths of grass, a key no larger than 5cm/2 inches. A found key a nexus, a flying blood cell: joint-dreaming