There are these times when I think you have no snaps in your spine, like stairs creaking with nervous tics as synapses after synapses crushes the orbital of space and time when your eyes hit my feet on the floor and I recognize that look, the one they give when I touch your shoulder and you shrug me off like a mourning shawl. I can hit the ground like a seismic wave but you will remain too buried to demand anything from this reflexology. Everyone needs to be mad at something, everyone needs to be mad at something, everyone needs to be mad at something, everyone needs to be bad at someone. Do you remember when I lost my breath and found it in your hands last August? I need for those moments to be all that we have.