Inside Of A Dream I Never Had

in poetry •  8 years ago 

The collarbone shifts

Hazy becomes the way the borders breathe
like so much snapping by trade winds
she doesn't have to tell you twice
weight is not carried on both ankles

Reflective but not mirror-like
paint covered rust is still degradation
I want to cry
but my cheekbones won't hold the weight

If you wave hello at your shadow self, does it wave goodbye just to spite you?

Flecks come up in debates about my senses
seemingly vomited in opposition to gravity and become larvae
I wink into the abyss
it offers me a first date

She wears the illnesses of people I've never met
a cycloptic view between the frames
certain cells wish they were closer together
so that she can't diffuse them

If I stare at empty space long enough, will it take the shape of my screams?

Folding like a player who can't hide a tell
she grabs carbon out of the ocean
the sirens wail in protest
but those borders are still bending

The collarbone shifts
larvae holes up in the apples I eat
we speak back and forth to each other
and they become the reason I wake up

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