Breath: kneading, conquering wind.
You fill me so perfectly,
deflating balloons of loss,
reguarding angelic sense.
Senseless, bidding off
and auctioning up my limbs.
They are only wooden after all.
I dress my neck with lemon scarves,
cover my arms in seashells,
pin needles of lace into my head
and let roses tumble in.
My vision is fushia,
blushing hands and touching lights
and as anger flops up, the panic sets in
and I pray for breath in the night.