Red Tide Procession Edit

[makeshift]

Edit 1

A week deep
I fill the bed;
drowning in its sheets
while summer slips
past the window, dragging
the sharp scent
of spoiled meat in its wake.

I rise and fall with a Tide
perfumed blanket
draped around my form,
like caterpillar slush
in a wind-caught cocoon.

a mattress is the closest
and furthest thing
from my dreams:

a choir of steamships
roaming an otherwise quiet thought,
and myself,
evaporating into something whole.


Original

I fill this bed
a week deep;
drowning in its sheets
while summer slips
past the window, dragging
the sweet smell
of spoiled meat in its wake.

My face, flooded
with pillow fluff,
rises and falls
and falls with a Tide
perfumed blanket
that's draped around my nape.

a mattress is the closest
and furthest thing
from my dreams:

a choir of steamships
roaming an otherwise quiet thought,
and myself,
evaporating into something whole.