IMPOSSIBLE SPA
I can kind of feel the edges of it
In a series of quiet rooms
A therapeutic lingering
I used to think everything was sentient
I prayed too much
I never went outside
Sipping herbal concoctions
I needed to disappear
I needed not to recognize myself
Then there was this girl in purple lipstick
She entered through an edge
The party was ending
And I can’t remember if we kissed
Or if my imagination is just too vivid
I still have her number
She was a filmmaker
Her lens lingered impossibly
On the statue of the Virgin Mary, or a dead bird’s wing
It seemed to linger
For hours
For so long I thought there was glitch in the playback
No, she just had infinite patience
The way an artist should
My pace is frenetic
My creation, obsessive
It bombards me
I want not to know
Please, take my instruments
And leave me with the void, the edges
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