dream

I dreamt that we were together in an old house filled with windows. The storm clouds outside pattered the glass with rain, and an undulating field of grass stretched into the horizon.

We sat on a musty old bed and you painted a heart consumed with fire on the canvas in front of you. When your brush left them, the flames suddenly twitched and curled and gave off heat, and we were bathed in red-orange light.

I pressed my lips to where your shoulders met your neck and took a deep breath, trying to take in your scent.

And then I woke up.

Fuck.

eggs

I've spun an eggshell around me
made of time and alienation
And curled in its heart
I watch people slide down the curve
like rainwater off glass.

My fingertips bend as I
press from inwards out and
satisfied with the fortifications
I retreat.

The yolk is
written words and voices
relayed over wire and
as the years skitter by it's
proving thin subsistence.

I'd break out but I
doubt
the quality of my
egg tooth.