it's not akin to the memory of the natural world. born knowing what to do and when. i wonder who knows of the mountains i would move and waters upon which i would walk. coccoon like you sleep whilst morning forms beads of condensation on the glass. last night i got angry that you'd left the tea on the counter. there are times when neither of us understand my frustrations. friction combined with parallel movement. rubbing against the world and each other. a slow softening of edges. with sparks.