For the first time since November, human contact isn't like flurries of marching ants over a wasteland of puckered skin stretched from growth spurts & sun burns. For the first time since November, knees falter into bedridden comas on copper ground wearing matching threads of violet defying the sky & breathless communication. For the first time since November, fingers scamper to find loopholes in coiled muscles & weak tendons to break up bonds as if not to allow the movements of feeble wings. For the first time since November, blood cells swim in thick fluid from noses onto lipstick hiding the fractures & forming ripples in words gushing into air until it's time to swallow.