Skinny Fists.

I wonder if I told my lips and teeth to stop chattering from the midnight air,
what else would start to shake on my body.
And if the cold could consume me from the inside out.
Or if you, with all of your frozen fingers, would come around.
On my side of the island, there is only beauty in the form of swollen tongues,
and eyes that will not close.

I once saw a young child.
Walking through the trees unaware of any danger.
I showed him my disease,
and then shape shifted into the atmosphere.
He was afraid.

I once lost the upper hand.
I saw that I was only the hot coals between your hands.
So turned into liquid form so you wouldn't drop me.
I slipped through you anyways.

Like a comet I tracked down your sideburns and hairy thighs.
And searched for something to tell me this isn't what I thought it could be.
And now that I’m left with only your imprint on my marked and naked body,
I can only stare down the chance that I will always be just outside of your reach.

I wish I could capture the emotion behind my closing eyes,
For they fall asleep before anyone can see the crimson linings.
&

I wish that I didn't have to think about the way your hands cradled mine.
Like a tree overgrown and surrounding all that it needs to survive.
Full of vines and forgotten laughter over whose side of the bed I was on.
But I know only of your broody tastes of vinegar.
Sour, and dripping down my back.

-Swillow