We used up each others' conversations.
We borrowed much from faded books, library books without the labels.
You stole some conversation, some dialogue, a few speeches and remarks,
your theft from films, mine from stop-motion.
We came across a bridge and we crossed it.
The bridge on the other side was nicer, better texturized.
It was faded green, like my eyes became after fourteen months.
They became a little green,
maybe it was the envy, maybe it was the Hulk.
Perhaps it was my consumption of jellybeans, perhaps it was the jello we never made.
You said water wasn't easy to boil, I had a thought and left it in storage.
I twittered, snickered, stitched up and calculated someone else's face.
And then we started over, waking up in poking feathers and materials that never cease to be,