sleek office, clock-fed.
no windows to poke at kids.

his hands work buttons
that slip loose, chipped at the edges.
sweat tracing endless fate
in twisting fingers, tying only air.

she moves unbuttoned,
a locket swinging at her throat.
he watches, catches nothing.

buildings for builders.
he passes through hollow,
time feeding on nothing.

unable to bend or straighten,
caught in empty gestures.
the coffee machine hums judgment.

he wonders if buttons unionize
in desk drawers after dark.

horizons unbuttoned,
beyond reach.