Rime has settled on our wine fridge and the kitchen
island, making the quartz glacier shimmer in the
morning light. Lately, our lies have taken on the
taste of snow, the same regular crystal structure.
That’s how the marital cold fission works: without
moving, just by multiplying itself.

Behind the stained glass window, snakes have
emerged from their den. After shedding, they look
so vulnerable and kind of bluish. They even have
small snake-goosebumps, as if they’d gotten scared
or aroused by something. At their core, they are
transparent monsters who feel constant separation
anxiety about their lost skins.

Unable to generate their own body heat, snakes
prepare for their big frenzy in the mating ball. We
watch, mesmerized, as they tangle together like
sugar lips in a kiss, and our arms get covered in
rhinestones.

August 10, 2025