12 November 2016


droplets of blood on my fingertips,
lips halfway parted
i taste only the aftermath of the tempest.

screaming into the night,
i flee the desert of apathy
dizzy from lack of life-breath.

suddenly awake.

barred owl calling through the darkness,
sighing of leaves against the breeze,
smells of cold rain, crushed apples, waning moons.

i want to hide from dreams of nettles tearing at our parallel souls.