Do you hold against yourself what things? It’s past time, those little moth’s wings drowned those slowly, dropping, drips. Even from all the way over here, the night lies. My tongue settles inside tracing circles, pressing into the squishy tissue, pink and hurt from extraction. what was left behind? There are dishes in the sink. The dryer is burning steam. And I am lying here, looking for a screen, my earphones, a device to plug in and plug up and tune nothing.