In the shadowed fabric folds and flat expanses of bed you’ve never been to. Out beyond the borders of bare feet that rub together like cold strangers at the darkest edge of town. Farther than your flags and beyond banners, unclaimed and unmarked by man, where cold settles unchallenged by greedy hands and restless, purposed breathing… skulk the formless absences and echoes of familiar faces. Scents and senses and memories of goose-bumped skin and tiny hairs standing on end, quiver under breath like branches in breeze, and under fingers, moving with ease, in soldiers’ formation. A bold and single-minded ballet breaking down into a chaotic orgy. Stage lights down and all the preachers have left town. Out there, in the shadowed fabric folds and flat expanses of bed you’ve never been to, wolves pace with independence on their faces and a quiet, shameful hunger in their mouths.