I don’t feel it now
Hair wet and cold and dripping
Floor shining with unforgotten dreams
An inch outside myself
These bricks that once contained me, just
A blackened well of failure
Because I still hear you in the lichen;
I can hear you in the seaweed;
I can hear you in the sunlight:
It passes above me, cold and sharp and familiar
It takes the sky. I become smaller. Compressed in, and I can’t
I can’t I can’t get out of here. Everything
is mud between my scrambling feet
And now your lipstick stains into my skin
Red fire-worms seep across my vision
All sense escapes me, and
Anemones flounder in my throat
The sun is gone, and water flows above me
The world is a little blurry now, but
I can still make out your name
A thousand consonants flower on the wall, and burn into my lips