October 7, 2014
To You,
The wind speaks to the water in my body,
commanding it to move swiftly-
to cells sleeping and raw with violence.
My eyelids shiver in revolt
at the stuttering slideshow
delivered by breath both sweet and cold.
With forced resuscitation
this swirling savior screams- "Breathe!"
The wind doesn't comprehend the language of refusal.
It doesn't hear the sound excuses make-
That disappointing thump of No.
It's a rough lover,
forcing me to feel all things.
Because to accept the shape and smell and taste of all things
Is to know both how small and how mighty I am.
Your Friend,
A
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