i sweat every word
from my broken body,
tired of wearing my will.

too tired to talk.

a clumsy cloud
covers you
in muttering nonsense.

letters with no names
limp off your skin
onto the floor around you,
laying in the shade
of your edges

to cook
burn off
and die.

thoughts are things to evaporate.
the pictures painted
in our minds
turn to ash
as the pink and purple
flashes of light
speak the story
of our organs
meeting and mating.

mothering one another.