You continue.
You know nothing of me or my bonds.
Caught in the tide, Your dreams drown and die,
Unable to comprehend
Your silence.

A haunting echo resides within your muted ribs,
Screams, then goes still.
Where song once sounded, now finds a
Static Substitute:
Cold to the touch,
And perpetually
Vacant.

How accustomed?
How acquainted to fight the birthright
To fight.

Your eyes roll back,
And find placid thoughts
(if, indeed, they can be called
thoughts)
Sink and drip with fire,
Perfumed and pacified,
Find their way to my vigorous hands,
And sprout legs to dance on my breath,

Happy to find themselves
Home.