I am the untouchable novice, wiggling, squirming, burrowing between the membranes and marrow and cells to the tissue-paper truth.
I am too small to see, too innocuous to ignore.
I riddle the ruse and strangle the sage, leaving loopy, rubber casts wherever the steady hides its hearth.
He was the ransacked flesh, sloppy, moppy, forgetting all the marble-columned pillars supporting leaky roofs.
He was too big to be, too gutless to abhor.
He fiddled with facts and lusted on love, coaxing coarse concrete bunkers whenever sun shone on his heart.
She was the unknowable fate, cruising, bruising, drooling through the chicken-wire barricade to reach the ripened eggs.
She was too false to flee from, too reckless to be real.
She sidestepped the savory and usurped the unique, draining every last rivulet from whichever lazy vessel she observed.
They were the oldest story ever told.
