December grasses sleep in delicacy,
life englassed like a princess waiting for a kiss.
From two carmine lung furnaces,
breath steams with the cadence of turbines,
sucking in, hissing out,
impressing ghost bodies upon the ether
like snow angels rising.
In one long huff,
I exhale the shape of my doings,
It is that which proceedeth out of the mouth.
Fueled by a borrowed sun,
I stand in borrowed heat,
watching all that was held inside me
dissolve like a kingdom lost.
At last, the weight of exhalation
becomes a cramp inside my ribs.
I need air.
For I am a vessel,
An empty place,
Formed to be filled.
Gaudete in Domino semper.