Beryl Breathing

Satin tongues to rolling words unthought yet by the masses be to turn to brine long molded thoughts and break up synapse strings to see Spoke in bubbles on the air to drift, to drift to breathing skies to sink, to sink to beryl seas and while we swim, to burn our eyes Taken home we glass encase them folded up in sea oat strands Hoping to forget the context scrub the salt and wash our hands Tongues ignite our conscience still to sink, to sink our breathing heart to drift, to drift in beryl dreams and so we tear ourselves apart.