Starch my dress
to stone
I am so tired
of looking so
worn in my skin

Content

White noise—
Static heavy
between my pupil
and my iris expanding
to meet our open space.
Touch, one between
another and never
together; I want
to be closer rather
than farther.
The steadfast
unicellular molecular
structure of ourselves
eats up daylight
in glass—
Our artificiality
creates, not yet—
bright red and soft
slender tensions—
reality. Relief.

Not many changes, but draft two.

Belgard

bluebells at our hairlines,
silver almost in daylight.
I would take your hand
to be still again
while the world pulsates
around us and our hay-
wire sifting glances.
they brought the blood
pouring to my cheeks
to urge my tongue
to make a word,
metallic serum to heal
our wounded knuckles.
but I couldn't. the silver
pooled against my eyelids
and welled into the breeze,
cold and comforting,
tangled among the bluebells
and the purple roots
of cherry blossoms
five blinks from oasis.

Content (first)

White noise heavy
in our light hearts.
Static between my pupil
and my iris expanding
to meet our open space.
Touch, one between
another and never
together; I want
to be closer rather
than farther.
Unicellular molecular
structure of ourselves
eating up daylight
in glass—
our artificiality
creates not yet—
our reality,
bright red and soft
intangible tensions—
reality. Relief.


I'd definitely like to do a different draft of this, so this is an initial draft!