Nothing is Nothing.

Nothing is nothing, and he would say she is nothing.
yet, in november when he waves his cigarette in the air, no longer held down by chains of commitment, he praises the rain.
And i'll pour the sugar in the bowl, sugar then flour. white - pure - virginity.
and mixed together, substances will provide a plan for the afternoon.

We would wait while the sugar and flour coincide, and we would forget what human existence smelled like.
the pine- green - scared and unsure.
and we would wait longer.
he would tell me to wait.
you are nothing, just wait. 
and as the two powders became one, and moss formed over the stove, white lights left unplugged, we became one.
Substances became of order, and he seemed to see who i was.
he seemed to see my whole life, under the eyes of one larger than him.
through the mind of some unknown god, some figure of glorification.

and together we were something.
nothing no longer, yet unsure. like the pine - green and scared.

i wore white- pure and virginal.
and i could hear chanting from the stove.
as if the bricks above it could speak, and tell us a story about life itself.
about sailing ships, and tidal pools.

there are flies in our web, and were crawling with confusion.
were crawling to find out where we are.
it wasn't an hour i could argue, or a minute i couldn't understand.
we fell asleep under blankets and warm sheets.

smelling like pine and dreaming white dreams, of nothing and something.