Sometimes,
sometimes I scream instead of breathing

and it takes my breath

and it makes me stop

wondering what could be so frightening
that I am confusing breath with screaming.

Perhaps it's just some times.

It steals lungfuls from me
sometimes,
but doesn't everybody get scared
sometimes?

When I wake up, my skin will be golden,
the wolves wont be hungry,
the wind will be sleeping
my back will lie flat against the lace trim
of a dream and my pockets
will be full to the brim with pennies
and trinkets, catching light pretty.
In the premature summer sun
they will feel heavy, but I'd never dream
of mentioning any ache
now I feel happy to know sleep from wake.

It's warm here, close to you, but my hands
are cold. They say
cold hands                            (warm heart)
so that could possibly explain away what's past
with something a little more than
the stencil marks and sterile string
sewing me and all my fault lines in
to shapes, telling stories on my skin?

They will always tell on me, telling tales
on my head, to different heads,
about wherever my head has been,
but still, you take my cold hands between
your own warm hands and I don't know
if its the cold or the heat that seems
to make my cheeks go red,
but we rely on friction to make things warm.

It's a strange thing to think that there is a way
but it only works because of all the ways that won't-
when nothing fits together, but this.

I broke every mirror trying to climb backwards
in time and into a world where I attacked him.

Here's what I have learnt about the phonetics of loss.
They sound something like this:
(which is to say, silence)
it's a note I've never heard anyone sing
and it's note that someday I will find,
come morning, sleep has left behind.
This sound, like those in an old lullaby
until found, I can know only as goodbye,
as milkteeth underneath a cotton pillow,
as the sounds that I hear now:
(the black bedtime echo).

Finding the words is like trying
to find a single vein
in the vineyard of your body.

The whole day

is a feeling,
and the words are all caught
at the front gates,

teeth.

It feels like knowing Polish
without being able to speak Polish.