sleeping sky with
a mouth of colours
overhead
i've been folding and
reshaped
into a plaster for your
thoughts, lines and
stars compassing the
damaged and
dying. a house of ugly
things,
scissors yawning open,
morph me. snip.
snip at the black, short and
spiky, short and un-
-depressed
a cloud of wishes
rained
while you were away
and now i'm wounded
with the language of the
sky,
a bruise for a bruise.