silver threads
silk spooling my fingers.
Body like bread
crumbling in my arms.
Something like water.
Carrying current
voice of an ocean
fluid, yet full.
The glass on my lips
warm and cold.
the fumes of my breath
the gold on my neck
the hail outside of my window.
It is you.
Imagine opening your eyes
seeing eternal sunset,
wishing for Jupiter storms
and moonlight.
A thousand years of rain
for everything we do.
Even cactus withers
in a pretty climate.
I pray we make it through.
Artwork: Invitation to Lunch by Vladimir Kush
