Lack of

This is where slipped lips are misread texts, hand motions that do not match the path of the clouds. The same lips that ask if you could come closer, to ease the panic that arises that immediately subdues rational thought, and bodies curl into a panic feeding itself into the fire, but it refuses to become less than what it already is, but what is less than nothing, what is it the fire consumes if not the flickering air, the air into which we freely dissolve and all of this is miscalculated because her eyes are fluttering with shaking hands: she is not even awake.