we woke to the sound of our breath

we woke to the sound of our breath,
the first lie, crying for the comfort of the womb sea, biologically aware of loss.

the bloodied sheets are stripped, wrapped up in us, making ghost trails held up by pencil shavings, tools no longer used, gathered and ground down.

pardon the illuminated from circus clown coined phrases, awash in memes, speaking posted news fast foods, over-calculated careers in ownership.

give us this day of bread, that's yeast still rises, and saves us from ourselves.

there is being!

there they stayed, flaming cathartic wings, tiny pieces of paper, on the currents, asking for favors, finding tongues sweet like pie filling.

the sapling branch, tosses about, holding on to each beat, the timber timer, the sprout looking for the suns glow, usually finding shade, in the selfishness of age.

but the budding holds the truth, as roots tap the mineral questions, the answers reverberate enlightening the now! there is being!

i

dreams begin with a touch on a shoulder, phoned in with a lover's kiss, a laughing awkward moment, snow falling through a ten foot high picture window, sculpting an Us, a We.

and by the sea, you say pretty things, in dreams, time and tense are fencing with smoke, here with rings, last minute flowers and cakes, and I Wills and I Dos.  WE sit upon our mountain of illusionary monuments.

i am flying now, a moment unconscious leaving the grounded, realizing my special powers, before knowing i don't have wings or jet packs. the i has a little dot, as We, tied by knot, is not a capital.

but flying, and mountains, and seas of embraces are sugar plummed fairies, dancing candied fantasies, while the alarm is calling from outside, those sweet eyes so marvelous in mine, now stone.