Lungful of glass.

A yellow bird, black fingernails, the twist of branches overhead, books of heavy stanzas, word laden passages, crash on the cliffs, the break of the waves, spray on the deck, the cat's on the table, fly out of the window, pick up the telephone, it's ringing and ringing and ringing and no one is answering.
The hiss of a kettle, smoke in the kitchen, when you burn the dinner I feel like you're trying to tell me something, "set me free." "say the word."
You were the cold toes, you were the warm socks, you brought the whiskey and the sleeping bag and you brought the shovel. I made up a bed in a room with no light, I figured maybe you'd feel like the light was your freedom, a victory, an oasis. I didn't want to give you false hope, my assurance that life would be waiting for you after you climbed out of the window into the trees and out out into the bright sunlight.
A moose shaking his head, a crow knocks snow out of the trees, a shutter clicks, the clouds cover the woods, this house sleeps on, into the night and day then the night again.

Your word was the word that always won.

He was singing to me,
From the foot of the bed, his eyes like stars in the dark.
The rain came down outside; a victory.
You feel the release of your heart from your body.
Does this make it easy ?
Are you forgiven ?

You can bite harder now.

We are all just trying to be holy.

And my saviour with your wet dreams inside my skin,
Your hands flash in a dark hotel room,
This body will split open for you.