dusts which ornate the pent-up breaths and discarded affections, softly powdering the old heart, layer by layer, through time. they’ll stay until they turn to gray cakes in this locked-up room. dirt too precious to give up.
light that shines through the uncleaned square windows. grilled, glassed and strained, it stains the floor nonetheless. it stains the floor a stain that wipes out in darkness.