i let go of myself mid-air, suspended like a plastered sun goddess — i long to be smaller. younger. incorporeal but grief is royal mantle dragged in the mud, draped on my shoulders, down to my limbs: like a pair of sunbeams gone astray and the sun has long left without so much as a sorry letter.
still, i feel its hands creeping to the parts of my lungs left untouched. its glare spreads like rust, telltale in the daylight glow.
soon, i will implode from all this alien warmth like a colony of bats, a revolution for the dusk. soon, the sky will recognize this ancient sadness throbbing inside a mortal body like a rejected ***** wanting to escape.
i let go of myself mid-air: vivid and ugly under the softest parts of sunlight – all dying in the dusk in slowest motion; it washes over me. anoints. screams out in mourning screams out ‘no’.