Your frail fingerbones
against the palm of my hands.
Impossibly soft.

I dream in color,
watching myself receive a
just, violent abuse.

In my dreams I’m strong,
but not now. I’m helpless now.
Then I’m waking up.

Distortion season,
a heavy fog awaits you.
Early sunglasses.

I’m helpless here too,
just graceful under pressure.
I handle it well.