You're one of those girls,
the ones with the fire extingishers for mouths,
cooling me down,
until my words
aren't burning,
Just warm.

I woke up. it was Sunday morning and the air was cool. I wanted to move but the air seemed heavy and soft.
So I laid in bed for a while. I wanted to rest my spine.

the air feels warm as I move into the upstairs living room. I sit in the rocking chair and deep breathe.
I will go downstairs. But I wanted to rest my spine.

I made my way to the stairs when I heard arguing. The kids were in the car and my mom and papa were arguing about something.
I didn't go downstairs, so I sat down and continued to rest my spine.

The door slammed. I got a text from µˆ˚´ . I replied and looked out the window. My mom got out shortly after.
I wanted some coffee while I rested my spine.
my breathing is quiet and deep. my lungs are full of the strange haze and my stomach is aching.
I made some toast with my coffee and sat down at the dining room table,
so I could rest my spine.

The door burst open. I set down my coffee.
my father walked in and the air got slightly colder,
"the family is gone for five minutes and that's when she gets up."
I looked at him and said words. He slammed the door to his bedroom. I sipped my coffee again and held it to feel some semblance of warmth.
I continued to rest my spine.
He came out of his room and slammed his door again. He went through the others to leave and slammed those too.  
He got in his car and left. I watched through the big window and laid down in my chair so he couldn't see me exist.
I rested there with my spine.

How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades—
smoke furls and curls among the glass—
before a man belies his fame?

The corner of the room pervades—
imbued with smoke if so to pass—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

Visage so cool but starts to jade;
will eyes see through and to surpass,
before a man belies his fame?

Caught in the great aesthetical wake,
the fans will bend and surge en masse—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

His words, his voice, depict a sage—
I wonder if the lore will last
before a man belies his fame.

But once the petals cease to sway
and blades blow back a pompous ***—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s shades,
before a man belies his fame?

body aches
skin feels cool
it's lost all its warmth
from not being with you