1. The night sweeps over us like a lingering broom.
2. The bristles of which swallow me up.
3. The sight of stars pulls me from my coma,
3. and I feel the salt water that soaks my gums.
5. It tastes like the beaches of Greece once did, when I spent my days wrapped in the words of Sylvia Plath.
6. The dissapearing sun makes me tired
4. and I smell the smoke of a candle as its rays set across the sea.
3. We hear the clouds that tumble in above us,
9. but we sit without umbrellas to keep out the rain.
19. The sand builds up castles to provide itself asylum,
8. so I feel like a fool when the sun continues to fly.
7. A queen to us all, holds her scepter up against the clouds and they bow and scatter.
16. A weak ruler who we love with the intensity of bleeding lips.
18. She reminds us of an old saying, qui vivra verra, that fills the cracks left by uncertainty in our hearts.
3. A phrase that sticks to the roof of your mouth and tastes like hope
3. A phrase that sticks to the roof of your mouth and tastes like hope
17. and we must carry it with us if we ever want to be able to live without it,
10. so we write it on our skin until the eleventh hour,
13. then we stretch the words and wrap them around our veins.
11. The solid rocks of reliability gripping the shore with the last of their strength
14. and love uses her small arms to pin them to the beach.
3. The smell of darkness fills me with emptiness
12. and though I’m alone on the sand, I have to fight through a crowd to get a good look at the last setting sun.
15. To be remembered for her rays that held us while we slept
20. and to thank her for ending my coma.
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