pour tender_square ardor glides like silk through every chamber of this red house—my breath bestows the friction. a softness empties itself into directional quadrants, my body bound for north. my palm warms the cloudy glass of rose quartz, my index finger wraps cherry thread to fuse with elemental air. wind will arise to take me home when time decrees it so. 211204 what's it to you? who go blather from