salty
tears race down the side of my
freckled nose
which will get there first?
to
the point on my face
the sun has kissed
the most

temple
burns
eyes
drowning in fear
my skin
yearns for a minuscule buss of the sun
the warm wind on my cheeks
the sienna light of the sky

my head
residues upon a pillow
as if it’s been detached
and laid to rest
no longer apart of my nature

what if
the sun is our oxygen  
and we spend all
our nights
searching
for a breathe of fresh air