The hive closes in, and we take it, we close toward the dark. The watchers look, look again, and then the want. You’re all dressed, why? And we, the hive, as meadow before them.
Welcome, we shape.
A declaration. A prayer. An insurrection. In this moment a power, our claws in and pulling; the rest of the world needs money and rules and whole buildings and our world needs profumo and password, rooms and tunnels and armoires, a whole room of bougainvillea and the secret.