That there is something to elaborate 
is an assumption
 of one subject of another. The subject is very tiny; an agent of more speculation than substance 
more virtue than form 
more name than place she is
 a lens
 at the tip 
of the inwardly turned socius he is 
the touch where the tip meets the firmament 
he thinks that
(at the very least) 
he could be that we would
 be that
 touch
 not tip (itself)
 not social (itself) 
but contact
 but heard but seen but (could have been).

He would let that body ride 
get pushed around
 get fucked get entered 
anything to not be that
 The Significant Thing, a reluctant power which
(what does that feel like anyway?)
a protrusion it can’t keep itself from being
 a namer a vindex 
a limited point a means to a tip to a touch a designation a faculty. He unrecognizes herself, with practiced courtly restraint.

Lie there and let it with digital sight it touches and digs in it indicates. Seen, we are what is underneath, falsely. Start at a surface it’s not a surface it’s a word it starts what five fingers take from the other side of face of word. A surface folds it bends it turns a corner a second and moves it flows it stops a finger it succumbs it is resilient it opens it becomes a second it is wet it sticks so wet to slide it swallows a thing as a fist a pylon a gangbang a sentence. The little subject’s walls gape a maw a tone to block that voice to say it is to say it starts there sometimes it seems.

Then there were the erotics of non-identity to feel she was no body a wider fluence and feeling that so much from where a non-such is a bigger world of lack of bed banks shore. Surfaces erode. I don’t know you happened to himself and she illuminated emptied out it filled myself with something pouring through a long address.

Easy access when they lie what she don’t know when staggered says she knows because a tongue is also a vindex 
(that one) 
and she can fake it better
 and she can turn it around 
and her touch is violent intelligence 
(and she does it distant too)
 as in virtuous – like that.

Emma Waltraud Howes, Disoriented Spoons … Transitional Objects, 2014 (Photo: Kai Wido Meyer)