spread too thin
i no longer just think about thoughts
-i imagine them-
small patches of color strung between
hung in the descent
this disc barely holding us

chance allowed
combusting pots of itcouldbe
might over must

into the deep
there
be
drakōns

they breathe the burn we fiend

let them swim you to the bottom
where maps do not dare
dwell among them
in the sliding trough of wet coil plume lit

come up for air
and tell me your where

and i will listen to you
i will stand under your words
and i will know you and adore your light