sometimes it feels as though we're stuck-
little fishes unable to swim up to the surface
where the blue water and the blue air
touches each other briefly but perfectly
(and only for a single second,
when they exhale
at the same time
and the breaths caress and kiss
and create a gentle mist
which rises and fills our dreams
with the sweetest of things
and disperses with a satisfying sigh).

we move around in places, through spaces, giving in and giving out.

we move in, out, away, around, together, apart, forward and backwards; we move on.

sometimes there is an unrestrained cry,
a hunger for a deep darkness;
the longing, to be nowhere,
as slowly but surely out of nowhere,
creeps a faint line of horizontal light
(which, when it does not go unheeded,
we call, morning).

its just enough light, to be given the courage to come undone;

to tip and spill, in big pools and puddles,
the sheerness of our undulating souls.