he burns his lamps to hide
just a couple heartbeats —
a couple each night.
a couple blue shots of bad blood
they say it does the trick.

I’m holding on to specks of dust
of what remains of my weakened self
And I hope when I cry, you’ll hold
on to my tears
‘Cause little sailors will be sailing on their tides

see, she was
she was an ocean.
say, oxygen
oxygen is overrated.

watch, roses
blooming beneath
the caress of brine
blood cells unfolding.

a certain lightness