like waiting for a bus in the rain

Drops of gasoline drench your skin
it droops and sags and you scratch at yourself 
till scarlet stripes boldly mark you as claimed but you still
cannot escape
the confines of tar that cling to your heart, iron shackles binding the wrong places

you see your sister 
your mother 
your eight year old self-
your pulse is in your toes erratic and loud,
the gallop of stallions; 
but all you can hear is the flutter 
of a thousand hummingbirds in your chest
and they are drowned by the storm in your throat

torn down, tiny needles prick and stab and you're filled and you feel
like bullets have torn through your skin in the place of nails 

inhale
and suffocate 
as expectation apprehension supposition uncertainty infuse your lungs till there is no room for the air that you breathe 
and you struggle to keep your head up

then grasp at the embrace of warm words to heat up your frozen fingertips
unfurl from beneath yourself and reach
upwards
falling is not so bad

real live jellyfish

electricity flows through our veins like lightning- 

our skin conducting;

touching sparks,

glowing

my mouth marks mercury trails across your neck,

ragged breath like fuel

in a dynamo

excess energy 

catching fire 

hands linger lighting up skin of stardust-

limbs tangled, 

pressed together, 

burn from contact-

aching, vibrating 

I bite my lip and taste your blood

  

embiggening

you grow up from the ground
branches rip like knives 
stabbed in and torn down
with the weight of expectations
in your shallow skin

your leaves drip with ice
brittle and harsh
warning
toughen up your fingertips
they cannot hurt you

on your bark is morse code
fragmented speech
that can't connect
with
cracks and line breaks
look at me

infinite skies sink into the night,
stars shine on you
stars will shine on you
thank them
breathing
you will be fine

sun and stars

you spin fantasy;
twist words into charms,
it's as if you've plucked stars from the heart of the milky way and
used them to replace your eyes-
sharp quartz at the very least

your bones are like charcoal scribbles on cosmic paper
broad strokes hard enough to break the sticks on your back
weighted down by somethings and nothings and anythings and 
skin is fragile, stretching, tearing,
ripping at the seams and not 
yet your arms 
translucent and glittering
have the warmth of your mother's smile

you have a musk
of reassurance and 
safety
the jacket with the sleeves too big and bottomless pockets fits you as perfectly as your fingers entwined with mine

clasped together
clenching together
always together