dieawkside

I'm not the she we knew who had
aerostat-lungs and a heart
like a broken burner.

My tungsten house admits no wind

for fear of
sense, a hurricane; for fear
of pain, my metal home
sits on a frame of osmium bone. But sometimes

a breath of you will slip between these drapes of stone,

and inspire

the ancient arteries
that make me feel
and feel like me.