Concentric Nothings

Let my touch
Be indistinct
And instinctive

Let my glance
By passer by

Let my system
Swallow its own
System

Let my breath
Move outward
In concentric
Nothings

Let it carry
The news

Let my motion
Be expansive

Let my limits
Be as atmospheres
And bracken

Let my decadence
Be candid

Let my wanting
Be scentless

We had touched
As only
Atmospheres touch