Constant craving

Between the blinds, behind the glass, browning palm fronds shift like winter. But for faded light it seems like a day to be captured.

In the tunnel between Eros and soul, fact and fiction, something pops. Fading strands of K.D. Lang's Constant Craving stream through muted consciousness. And I know my body is not dead.

Between the blinds, behind the glass, a girl knocks on a sliding door and waits. She disappears when the spectre of a man lets her in. I envy her.