smoke stories

In the back of my mind, I pull up the carpets and roll up the windows. Change the sheets and comfort myself without a tangible presence. I feel myself fill the air, spirit shimmering weight on the curtain light and there is a soft beat of my distant heart. These memories float back and settle soft on consciousness. A past is texturized, fleshed out into perfect print on the notebooks of my thought. The figures blur and I can see, the inner guide working, the melodic sound of her. My own dialogue surrounding and astounding, pushing together pieces to form a part. I feel the roots behind every sensation, the pulse of the second and it cauterizes my fear. The stems of life pushing through pores, kissing the air with awareness. These words that are never spoken but drip from my lips.