Broken fingers lean against the current like blades of drunken grass. Are not your bones slave to your flesh slave to your skin? Do your cells get to vote for your brain? My urine runs clear, thus this body is pure. No yellow tinge to betray the pumped pollutants. Cherry blossoms are only beautiful because they whither and die as if they are late for something. As skin slides on warm, soft skin, taste the salt of her life, the sweat and heat and scent on your tongue, a chemical record of what led her here. Snow falls on trees like semen and egg, the promise of fresh life and a compete circle. Protein becomes acid becomes protein. You've probably stopped reading by now, assuming I'm just stoned again.