My cracked lips and dry

throat greet you.

My mind sails away

from the physical

claim of self.

I’m against the wall

of the solitary confinement

of feeling.

A glass of red water

is sitting on my bookshelf.

Books are piled

on my soul.

Bigger perceptions,

simple tools of the

brink of creativity.

My veined eyes

greet you,

are calloused

with night of

dry-heaving.

Juxtaposition of an

orange in  my

throat,

keeping the words

down like medicine.

"Don’t keep it all

in there,

you’ll surely die.”

But some days,

some times,

I stop caring.

You’re my reason.

I greet you with

pale hands and

shaking knees

cracked lips

kiss you.

All of the sad

and distress

pour into the body

I most love

to hold.