sieze up
(blue skies are whispering fallacies to the moon)
rough labored breathing
through thick mucus
lining the dawn of our breath
(we sigh in and out)
between the lines and crests
of the shilouette that follows
our shoulders to our knees.
bow to the burlap and taffeta walls
that support the frame
of our thoughts

something fragmented like youth
scampers across a canvas
torn to shreds in the beauty of frustration
and the pain of anticipation

we weigh in with
heavy thighs
and sorrow filled
hollow bellies
in the secrecy of our homes
before the sun can pry through
the baby blue blinds
that fall helplessly onto the window sill.

promise me tomorrow will resolve differently.