Heir to the Unchosen Hour Shirt Size:L Her top flutters like a

Her top flutters like a thought she was never allowed to finish — red chiffon

The dress used to mean something: a dinner

and avoidance

One boot slightly ahead of the other

loose enough to breathe but close enough to hold her together

Heir to the Unchosen Hour Shirt Size:L Her top flutters like aHe walks like hes late to a life he never chose. The crochet clings like memory heiry in places. It was handmade, like most of his charm. Looped together with good intentions and generational guilt. He is a somnambulist in disguise alert, articulate, but not entirely awake. He answers questions with questions. Smiles like punctuation. The shirt looks awake, but he does not. Its hue? Something between faded envy and steeped solitude. Like moss pressed