droplets of blood on my fingertips,
lips halfway parted
i taste only the aftermath of the tempest.
screaming into the night,
i flee the desert of apathy
dizzy from lack of life-breath.
suddenly awake.
barred owl calling through the darkness,
sighing of leaves against the breeze,
smells of cold rain, crushed apples, waning moons.
i want to hide from dreams of nettles tearing at our parallel souls.
