I.

I lie awake, considering
(despite fatigue & wishful thinking)

the air
staggering
hurricaned in my chest


with dreams voyeuristic
I am right there,
knowing ache

Though perhaps it's like a dark boy told me:

there should be no words  (i feel)
there will be none  (in fact) we could

just end up with an alphabet of silence
and mute hands,
bellies having swallowed our sense

of timing & divine knowledge:
speech can be unwanted conception
with the vessels of our tongues, and
touch will bloom wars wide open
to paint our bodies
with blood and soot.

II.

(neurons will puncture hearts &
                     masturbate egos

fingers tell stories &
                 the future
and i've learned

heavy breathing is a sure sign
of deep water,
and
you are the marco
to my polo - so
(blind)
TREAD, BITCH, TREAD
i tell myself -

although godfuckingdamnit
it's so hard to stay afloat
when I am the anchor
tied to your ankle)

III.

Despite fatigue & wishful thinking,

I feel
in fact.