June feels short and raw,
Like grass and orange squash and warm knees,
I'm squeezing fresh citrus over my open heart,
Letting everything in,
The breeze, the news, the change in skies,
Your eyes,
Letting it all in to flood my bones,
As I fall.

If I can hold on,
Then I can drift away,
Over and away from the beige and the ache,
I can drift into hues of pale pink and cerrulean,
Every shade blended to my skin,
As the sky envelops me,
Wraps me up tight.

Bring on the greys,
The whisps of cloud that blur across the atmosphere,
And rhythmic rain on Sundays and dark days,

But give me
A  violet rose dome while I drift,
The sun scattering clear thick shadows which flash over my eyes while I spin,
Yes give me blues,
While I drift.

I can't read all the books,
or be all the people,
or live all the lives.
But I can feel every tone,
shade and hue.

Fill my lungs with mountains,
and grass and skies.
Watch my life branch out like
a moreton bay fig.
Here comes lonely
and blue,
and I'll feel every tone,
and shade and hue.

There's no way out of my head,
so I'll devour the rain,
beautiful and annihilating,
full and terminal.
Every tone,
shade and hue.

It could be the comprehensive blow
of short sharp needles to my torso,
or the merciless ache
of looking at a sunflower with one eye shut,
or the unrelenting urgency to walk
the map of another.
but,
there are spaces,
where leaves use to be,
and now afternoon air moves between,
and there are dusty birds,
who flutter to the sound of the rain.

Sometimes talking feels like walking steadily towards a moving train,
The power,
Chug, chug, chug,
Volume rising like the temperature behind my eyes,
Pacing, pacing, feet floating heavily below my knees,
Like carrying the weight of both of us on my back where you touched me once and I jumped,
Chug chug chug,
Words fall like bags of sand,
Dry and broken from my mouth,
Lit by the lights of the choo choo locomotive that will grind my bones firmly into the track,
Breathlessly I watch the train
Stop,
I step on rushing with the light and the hope and the words ready to spill from my mouth like viscous liquid,
Ready to pour into you,
I love you!
I gasp for air and swallow the liquid down like medicine,
Maybe next time.

I'm learning to lay awake
with myself,
Peaceful and warm I
can be with me,
Caring for myself like I do my chilli plant,
Testing my own leaves for lack of nutrition,
Or love,
Cheap, clean sheets beneath my hands and calves
Light the wick.
Colin Meloy's liquid voice falls
like hail,
Excitable under my skin.
So as I watch the light move across white ceilings I can clear
and muse
and breathe.

I'll carve myself out of the bones of a former me,
Shave off the soft, spongy gut making my calls,
Leave a strong oak cask,
A barrel of good decisions,
Or lessons at least.
The new me, rough and cut by experience!
The sky can shape my eyes,
And the sea my heart,
Weathered like a cliff but tough like an avocado,
I'll resemble myself like a sister,
Just more me.