My torso is dimming in your
Lights because the trails
No longer require our
Flashlights.
Mercury lumber bites
Our skies and clouded rain
Fills our distant eyes:
Poetry that is mine.
Not me but mine.
There are better days
And today was meant for our
Births. I spoke to you already
And you were disappearing
In cystic infused normalcy.
There you were in samples
Of my womb;
Holding on to my intuition’s
Breath.
