Quickening - Drowse

In your car, parked

Cold air

Flows through

Your mouth:

The dream of a friend’s

Hand on your head growing cold

Death Thought surrounds me:

Not death untimely

A wasted life

The bad person

Quickening inside of me

«We taste anxiety.»

So rain burn through my throat

Bring Small Sleep

On you she floats

Withholding she holds me

«I'll be where you’ve lost yourself.»

«In your emptiness I swell up.»