Fantasising about Being (and) Light

The first breeze of the day kisses my brushed cheek, hours too late
to secure any feeling through the wet heat.

Sopping heavy cotton slopes over flopping heavy carcass, the feeling of
gravity pulling limbs further towards a harsh razored ground.

Looking down glass and metal converge with shag and plastics all heavy
and limp devoid of life but burdened with meaning to the being.

This bomb site was made in your absence of twenty one years but slowly
the broken rubble of existing neatly slots in to place.

The summer sun pushes all being in to a heavy mass, closing in on the
dry coarse ground below.

Burning through glass, layers of wasted flesh burn and evaporate but
pull the body further and further down in to the horrific depth
below.

And then you.

A voice, a word.

The breeze grows stronger and gives useless skin purpose.

And you give me being.

A touch, a tender kiss.

The forceful grip of gravity is loosened before gentle release.

And you make me light again.