my vision is always seemingly clouded by red,
a light dusting of rose petals over my sight.
my joints are aching and inflamed,
and i never truly understood why.
my breathing is hitched as i cough out chalk dust,
and i am friends with the ghosts in my backyard now,
they tell me when the saline is escaping my veins.
everything is clearer in my sight when i'm away,
yet i always come back to the apple trees and blood faucets,
because i never really learn why the sun tells me i'm asleep in my daydreams.
he can tell me when to leave and i won't protest,
but for now i'll stay with my baby,
my flushed red baby.
'cause he loves me with his bruised knuckles and scarred wrists,
and i love him with the hole in my chest and my bony ankles.
and we're okay here,
dreaming in our island of beaming coals,
sunburns,
and the bittersweetness of the end of summertime.
