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.
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