Cellophane
A heart as a lark,
That has woken it’s neighbours
Come out in conjecture
With fierce loaded chambers
A wing to be taken away
To locks without window or doors
Where the pulse may condense__
__ A sanguine taste upon the floor
And a fog on the window panes
As lungs carry scars
From obsessions of breathing
It’s truth through a filter__
__The breeze of a world that
Has fallen from kilter
And wheel with a feather upon
Grounded it sees
Not city, colour, love and stars
But the Ground
Where its supposed to be__
__A content breath believed.
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