The teardrops sit at the edge of my eyes,

blink blink

now, the curve of my chin-

I can see myself the mountains, sailboats,

and all those other little things.

Pink eyes

-no, they’re just sunburned-

they gravitate around my skull and its planets-

I, too,

am part of this prismarine orbital now-

up until this point, I had forgotten how it felt

lying on the curve of my back,

-not through my teeth-

to hold the sun in my palms,

or play pedal piano with my feet-

I am nothing more than a child

scrying and searching,

letting the dark matter fade away-

after all, nobody really matters in the end.

The teardrops sit at the edge of my eyes,

wind breeze,

now,

into the sea.

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