A space, a square –
you rearrange my skin with one hand,
complicating the gesture while simplifying my frame.

A space, a square where time has been cancelled,
stripped of its original function.
The interim?

You sit in your desk chair,
it is another factor, something else to add to your formula.
How would I look on your graph?

Your expression, it expresses nothing,
it is devoid of meaning, there are no implications.

Did you ever stop to think how much science there is in your gestures?
How much architecture in your expressions?

I get the sense that you are emerging,
in the process of becoming.
The interim?
You amplify.

I climb onto your lap while you are busy typing and you tell me this

You peel me back;
unfold me with just one arm, just one eye.
Open me.
Why don’t you play with the air between open and closed,
shelter and wideness,
angles and curves?

Instead you create a space, an absence of endings and possibilities.