A sigh ripples through the skin as goosebumps rise, landing on a pillowing plume of peonies.

We meet in the in-between.

A mirror in the juicy void where the body squirms.

Old stories jolt you backwards to a place once known.

THERE IS NO WAY BACK.

The shoes don’t fit.
The chest constricts.

Discomfort becomes a doorway into messy discombobulation.

There are no edges here.

Meeting ourselves, over and over, deeper and deeper.

Until the playbook sparkles

and the rules become our own.