Sea waves are
turquoise muddled
and abandon the
bones of those
they swallow.

Growing
              Teeth
              Words
              Up
              Tougher skin
              Together

Growing
              Tired
              Distant
              Old
              Alone

I yawn through tired eyes, light uninvited,
My bed has been so untouched.
But I spend the twilight in yours, warm and finally home.
Heavens watch as we wander through your garden,
Sunlit and raw,
That is you and I.

My cup of tea looks into me and
tufts of your hair are in my sink but
I don't mind.

Shoes stretched
out from all of
my steps

My shadows had forsaken
the grounds, my blood
coursed through the leaves.
The golden dew never stayed
and the crystal frost never came.

The transformation yields to no one;
Sugar cube swallowing
to stop the fury and fire dancing.
In your black and white blizzard,
there is a frenzy.

The gray is for all us hollow,
burnt and pricked, suffering the Consequence
and stepping on the broken glass.

You made a home beneath my skin.
I was swollen, but not for long.
I lived within the sun,
the skin, and the soul, It is just now
I found that I've been inside
of a tornado the entire time.

I say, my saving grace,
**** me in and spit me out once more,
Asphyxiate and resuscitate.

The next, you may be unending, on fire.
The flowers may grow again in your footsteps.
You grow and the world follows.

You put the trail through this forbidden wood.
I find myself pacing through its evergreen, ever-lost.

Your wind whips and the blades of grass
cackle beneath the sun, your rays
lash and burn and sting.

I still don't feel a thing.

Perhaps I saw you when
you swallowed the sun and
you plagued the place
you called home.

I was not your home.

Your moon crawled
slowly over them while
they shuddered to think
how you made them believe.

I never believed in you.

My swollen tongue has derived over time and the spacing is deliberate.
I've acquired a mind cunning and venomous, ****** for its immaculate canyons.
"Welcome to the Lottery," they said, the snares and the eyes were plenty.
Restraint and conviction aside, any place outside of my throbbing mess of an entity was nowhere for me to be.
But this made me the culprit, the messiah, and the victim.
The slayer, the lover, the slain, and the fighter.
The refugee, the all-knowing, the patron saint, and the living dead.
All of whom could digress that I would never escape such an untimely event.

There was no response to my oncoming tidings, biddings, and affairs.
Although, I can tell you I was found amongst the flowers and the sewer rats.

The gift of sand
in your eyes -
blessed be you
who might slumber
through thunder.

It is not about pulling your weight (not that there is much to pull anyway)

You flourish and then you falter and then you are throwing yourself to the shower floor
Always 
such a detrimental blinking of eyes (must be a terror to keep them closed)

Chirping and nuzzling does nothing to ease the swelling from my scalp

.
Finger tips graze my hair, lightning froze it to my skull.
I just hope you can see me.
My morpheus, put me to sleep,
My internal ricochet.

your hot breath on
[my chilled skin]
are my hands
cooler
than the
snow