billyfivecrows

Marked by occasional sting, a draping in my own language.

Names of stones are 'yoga' 'insect' 'somewhere beneath you'

Painless needle is native tongue, spit in the waters of galaxy.

Lying on back of breath, I deflect palm; it might return.

One leg aches like the Red Sea. One leg bakes in the sun.

The room lies drugged at the feet of the ceiling. That flood

Bends positions to make me envious. I drink from the door

Where the faeires bleed, arms akimbo, long reed, a need

To quiver, but I can't. Every freckle watches back, dwelling

In the red-eye world of skin-smoke and soothing oil. Pale

Swaying speaks to us, and we return the favor; rigor mortis

Of the soul is not possible. Pulse of the earth.

Pulse ajar.