it comes apart, except one part

one more night where one lift the dorsal meat from rib alongside its beige crust and push bone inwards

a sanctuary of peace, another thought one wouldve liked that, another thought one'd like that, one figured. figured one'd like that, sanctioned one like that

suffocation of physical thickness colliding into soft life and punctuating to the point of pushing outwards and curving anywhere but in. escaping what binds tight to plush wetness, tight to one. makes one opposed to creation of another

chance another

the heaviest costae in the world