Saturday's a Quiet Riot

I am the breath you beg yourself to keep, the one you try to lock away behind your lips, a prison to hold my effervescent body, oh the way I move. I am the ghostly hue of purple and blue, the silky sheets made so fine they slither around your body as though they are a fluid. The rhythm of your heart beating, the slow crashing of waves, the opening and closing of doors. Sometimes you wonder where your mind went, a dragon getting lost in the smoky haze it created its self. Icy shivers sent trembling through your veins, my nails against your delicate skin. You are the flower blooming in slow motion and I the camera capturing the moment. I bite my lip slowly, as it does a little wave from under my teeth, finally releasing it. Your eyelids droop in a long instant, slowly getting heavier and approaching the ground, only to flutter back open. I watch as your head falls against the wall, your body seems to be swallowed by the bed you sink into, a shadow falling through the world. My hand reaches up, my fingers grazing my scalp and running through my hair, grasping at any remainder of sanity. I watch the muscles in your neck relax as you arch your back and stretch out, your mouth falling into a tiny oh. A deep breath and our bodies breathe as one, up down motion, the sea pushing and pulling at our backbones. I am the wind that steals your blood flow and turns it out onto the world, rivers and streams, ponds and marshes. One must feed the children of the world.