remember when the parabolas were to steep

and the martyr flew out of the sky to save us
all?

exposure to the curves bent us, but we stood still.

icy syncopation in our eardrums and no one could stop
our cadence.

we were cold and chilly, and our bodies began to flush out the

heat, but we stood firm. the wind whipped our eyelids,

and the river crashed into the trees.

our own metamorphosis was one of tyrannical thoughts

but purity lied between our veins. i stared at my hands for hours,

webbed and amphibian-like. we weren't ourselves

and after the fifth of March we fell into the vespertine.

transformation complete.
androgyny in its fullest form.