Drive wicked. Make harsh noise, violent, tempered. Fragile flicker. Wet dream. Wet hope. Bigger. Bigger than this. Swallowed into easy stomach. Aches, with little space for dry air and flat tires. Empty bile. Glory without hope/want/fear; of falling, flying, imagined good days or blinding spaces between teeth that ache.
compromise is a word i hate; only pushing harder, slamming up against the walls of what i want, only making myself hurt, only making both of us bruise and ache. im sorry i cannot be someone gentle and soft-willed. only my stubborn self. i want to be easy. i want to be kind for you.
my hands reach out without fear: brown branches holding up the sun-heavy sky caressing the swinging shapes of clouds. i stuff my pockets full of stolen desires, dreams that harmonize with mine making wanting melodies that echo cross the open sea, carried by the same breeze that brings the birds home in summer.