Sssaaah
Breath,
khh—hh—
unfurling into sleep,
fetal. Almost.
The shell thickens as
orange seeps through calcite
in pulses.
Warmth gathers,
molten and patient,
indifferent to time.
Roots press closer to their veins,
rivers thicken into dusk,
and the clouds taste
of cider and warm milk.
And the frost stirs—
a promise
tucked beneath the tongue of the wind.
A filament of cold
brings a little light.
The shell does not break.
It cools.
Quietly,
from the inside out.
tik…tik…
the cracks begin.
Caught—
—
Between silk and skin.
tik…tik…sshhh khh—hh—
About the Creator
River and Celia in Underland
Mad-hap shenanigans, scrawlings, art and stuff ;)
Poetry Collection, Is this All We Get?
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Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Ooh, this is good. To me it’s sad. Reminds me of a time when I was a kid, my dad found an abandoned bird’s nest and put the eggs under an incubator. They didn’t all hatch.
This felt soothing but also a little spooky. I think it's the incubation part contrasting with the languidness of the scene described. Hope you are going well.