She's mid-breath when she
Takes the glass and
Splashes the water down her face;
She buries her head in a grave,
In a ground made of
Flannel, speckled with puddles.
Her hands ***** at the electric
Fence, and her fingers
Spasm and grasp and clench tight.
The sides of her back are butterfly
Wings, that flutter
With every gasp and shutter.
Her hair is the dark sky above her,
That hugs her red eyes
With fingers that sparkle thin white.

I've got nothing to say, so I say
It all; I ramble
Until her shudders are giggles --
The eclipse passes and the sun
Is in the night sky, Licking
Up and reflecting the sky specks.

So I'll put the lit up flakes on her
Already red nose,
And let the clouds dry up.