got caught in this small, fine-crafted world:

with half-moon indents below flittering
eyelids, with new rotation about iris,
embers under cloud sprawl, bloodshot from
  later
on in the night. with reveries hung out,
with sharp fog covering the evening: i
misplaced most sensibilities, i
clambered down from
this ridgeline, hope,
for god knows
whatever
reason. i
stood still, continually incapable of translation,
scrambling for word-count, the inside of my chest.

with new broken bones,
some impossible heaviness,
some insurmountable hopelessness:
soft poison, self-administrated;
i'll still climb back up, though,
given any fractional semblance of luck.

we've all been burnt, yeah,
but if you'd take this
half-exhausted charcoal splintering
heart in flax-woven basket up,
i will do my best, to
nurture your own back to
meadowlark wings your
breath takes flight upon, in
interstitial moments, as
your quiet lips
  turn to smile& glow.