on a long road stands a calm-eyed gypsy woman that has learned to tiptoe down a road that never ends, and at night she dreams of hazel eyes and sea legs that
float above water-the only way to travel

help me.
i think
I've forgotten
how to
breathe

he drowned in the last bits of the rain
as the sun washed the greyness
from our skin and highlighted his crimson
against the ever lengthening sky

i had a dream the other day that
a flashlight shone bright,
cutting between the ribs of night
and using my free hands,
i cupped it's ***** within my palm and watched in silent fixation as slight
particles breeched between my bleached out fingers, to aliken the feeling of exposure heating the sole of my hand to skinning rays of a full moon is a woeful plight. i'm not sure how i got here,
but i know it feels desperate to try to stay