June 6, 2019
running along skin
(like light, a small line that oscillates through time)
each link pulled
slowly across the sinuous curves
(slightly raised. A hand that moves lazily,
that follows the dip of a collarbone
that brushes a neck.
of an earrings
into your skin
(laughter like a stream)
a shout that just misses
a thin crescent stopped mid-spin under the lonely gaze
of a streetlight, oily yellow outlining a high cheekbone.
as people passed us,
our hands intertwined and
the smell of you on my
Our gazes reflected in
eyes that caught ours
that held for
one beat too
In the morning
sifts through clouds or
strands of hair that
are suspended by static.
a hand on a shoulder sometimes
or in a palm
wrapped around thighs,
marking small hollows in skin as light,
There is light and dark and then there is the space in between.
There is heavy and there is light and what happens in between.
There is soft and hard and how it feels in between.
the intervening space
These are the spectra of life
because there is never one thing.
There are never sides but rather, what happens in between.
Taken as a whole, or the like.
they look away at us at the camera
they look towards the reflected light, it runs
parallel to the spine
– are floating in the comforting womb of curtained rooms
we see and watch through prisms.
Away and toward maybe a pool of black water that eats up light repels it off of its languid
There is the top and the bottom and then there is interstitial space
Laid on skin,
nacreous and unclear.
It was seen through
There is the beginning and there is the end and there is what happens in between.
There are words
are sounds and there
is the silence in between the heaviness of life. Offset by the weight of space in between
the light that both
hits and diffracts
Words: Grayson James & Fehn Foss
Video & Sound: Sebastian Back
Photography: Lauren Armstrong
Assist: Aleksandra Blazevski
Makeup: Julia Vuong
Model: Habiba Esaad