Is-Est-Abyssus

 "create"         the breathless words are a whisper             breaking static cadence, touching paper-thin skin             like clinking glassy champagne bottles against each other             jittering fuzzy scenes spitting out, the taste of bitter coffee                            &

i left myself prune in the bathtub over an hour the ice climbed up my limbs (my brain uncaring) the darkness tiptoed in (my brain left staring) incoherent the synapses snap in static frantic and erratic filling my head filling my eyes filling all of me the image of you when you were alive and whole when you were mine and twenty-nine (as i am now, yours and twenty-nine with a month to go) your name is a blessing-- an oath and a breaking fit for prising open near to skinning the wound that runs the length of me from hollow throat to empty womb (and every acre between) in the dream you whispered how happy you were i finally