I wanted, I said turning towards the dust on the soles of her feet, I wanted you. I wanted, I wanted to quote, to talk you the talk of the older writing, when there were no screens. When desert was the moment into the sun when the flesh burned off. Now everything's scroll, your name confronts me, I suck the letters of your name, suck the air for lines winding down the glass. I moved towards the depression where the tar pit lay, water-buffalo on their sides mewling for help.
Meaning is our despair.
There are no signs and no signifiers. Nothing can be assembled from chaot debris. Tiffany and I rolled across each other, rolled each other's lips into the dust of the desert, cracks of the desert, debris and sand of the desert, water-buffalo mewling, suffocating, drowning in the darkened interiors slowly grinding to a halt. The copula exists only as substance. But she filled me with tar, filled her with the same.