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.