Fever Dream

In my head it is mid-July.

I am sinking into the heavy air,

suffocating under the weight

of it. I inhale each new starlight-

confession with every breath

and do not believe a single one,

used to the words pushed out

from the tongue by fleeting

feelings floating upwards

with bonfire smoke, gone.

Summer's blood runs mauve on

bruised horizons and shadows lie

thick in their own lethargy.

Forests of gnarled limbs pull me

threadbare, grab at the sky and

unravel the blue by the string. White

lies are spoken swift like streams

until they dry and leave our spirits

flickering like hallucinations. Empty

husks anchor their toes in the sand.

Salt stings my blistered lips. I choke

on promises from a heavy mouth

and sink into the transience of youth,

taste the beating red of mercury.