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swimming in something new, a different and almost familiar blue of stinging eyes and soothed smoothed skin. deciding to choke on lies you never told is a performance art, never for myself as much as I'd like it to seem, and I still haven't learned if that was a mistake. choices are multilateral for a reason, right?
more of the moon than the sun these days, still touching me gently, but more like a nocturnally unfolded petal than the skin of a peach. summer to winter, day to night - do I change with the seasons? with the sky? --
grabbing fistfuls of thunder and spinning them in my hands and swallowing them whole, shoving a stone of thunder down my windpipe into the space behind my sternum that sometimes threatens to crack with emptiness and aches for a touch, to blossom near my lungs and remind me not to stay silent. wearing the sky instead of walking in it; draped around my shoulders, as gently as I used to insist the feet touching it must be, no more peach skin bruises. then snatching lightning from the clouds to throw into my eyes - never mistaking myself for a shadow again.