A Reflection on the Remaining Fragments of a Recovering Psyche

i. how?

this exoskeleton has grown so rigid,

so impossibly stubborn that it can not be maneuvered!

suffocation(and therefore death;

it

typically,naturally follows)is imminent.

we've no choice now

but to wait

for the darkness.

ii. and then?

cracking,along the spine.

wallpaperskin begins to peel,to curl

away from the soft pink underneath.

a wiggling finger,a vibrating toe.

darkness has not yet

won.

iii. something like?

rejuvenation. rekindling.

arduous symphonies sing of the

rediscovered tombs

from days past,

glorify the freedom felt and

understood from

sarcophagi which were too small for

the most compact of

bodies.

iv. but after?

a touch. a kiss. a flittering

of lashes against

dewey skin.

like enzymes and substrates,

locking and keying,

exhausted bodies collapse

onto one another,

fueled and masked by the

laborious breathing

of lungs and diaphragm

grappling desperately for oxygen.

v. and all for?

a moment.

that moment.

unification, completeness.

press closer, harder,

but to no avail,

for even "together"

is never quite

close enough

for me.