the sun and moon collided,
burning desperate tragedies.

but i think you and i
might have been the real casualties.

Behold!
that drawing in
                 of breath
                         a minty
              entanglement
   of starlit senses
How they curl
       like the opposite
               of smoke
over the very
insides
     of my
           earthen throat
                         crackle of
       autumnal breezes          
whooshing through
like a beacon
And in that
split-second
right before
deep freeze
my molecules
   rise and fall
       in the rhythm
            of snowflakes
each one a
unique entity
   dusting the
            solid soil
                with loamy richness
                    and simultaneous
              feather impressions    
           of relief
Now
like silk draped
alabaster
I am cooled
Like sweet
        river water
  I flow
       rocked by
the slow
churn of
growing freedom
             that alights my pores
arises in tender
stillness
     through the
          looming forests
           of my skin
              penetrates the
                  unseen journey of
                     my night
                 as demulcent
          and persistent
as the balmy petals  
of a
   raging,
fiery
    bloom

i suppose nature has not yet kissed
the moon rocks and space dust
on the surface of your home,
so if i flung some flowers to where you are,
would you notice this earth girl calling?
and would you, in return,
send me some space dust in a jar
so we could defy the laws of gravity
and let our love go beyond the stars?

i haven't missed you at all
and it's been kinda peaceful,
being able to breathe.
must be what asthmatics feel
when they get that first puff of an inhaler
after a brutal attack—
that's what i imagine, at least

overwhelming relief, like
they just lifted 160lbs of weight off their chest
and expelled it like a breath on the breeze.
oh, it's still there: the problem
but the jitters are gone for now;
inhaling doesn't feel like being a whisper away from a panic attack

you've induced plenty of those.
you're no medical condition,
nobody's going to find your name on my hospital records;
but i bet if they cut me open
they'd see the scars on my lungs
from where my ribs couldn't expand enough
to fit the anxiety you exhaled into them

you're a disease in your own right
but like a lot of mental illnesses,
you've been easy to become familiar with
to the point where the absence of the discomfort you cause
makes me feel uncomfortable,
and it's been a welcome break
but now i'm wishing you'd come back to me

i'm not sure how i'm supposed to breathe without choking anymore
i don't know how to sit without shaking
you did this to me
now come back and fix it

We are edging toward
the crest of December-
it looms, unforgivingly
over the horizon.

My mind is filled
with thick paints
and heavy smoke.
You stand askance
like some forgotten
silhouette,
begging for reprieve
in the waning moon glow.

I drink a little more,
and create tangible feelings
on tepid surfaces-
working like a madman
to keep the wolves at bay.

And I care about you
a little bit less
every day.