pipe organs take deeper breaths than you.
collect.
i don’t weave you into forms you don’t know how to embody and you don’t breathe words into my lungs that my tongue cannot form.
avarice.
you think my arms not as they are but as you understand them, and you wish they were the same thing.
begin.
i’ll hold you into perdition, remission, partition,
and there isn’t a soul on this earth who can do it the way i can.
concede.
there is more to you than the times you didn’t die.
bygones beget brokenness, insects don’t lift a finger, and we don’t breathe the way you do.
trust doesn’t allow for transgressions.
resuscitate, alleviate.
dreamscapes drift fitfully and i didn’t think of anything first, not even you.
rewind.
you’re impossible, but i always loved when my mother wrote fairytales.