Quickening
Kyle Bates
In your car, parked
Cold air
Flows through
Your mouth:
The dream of a friend’s
Hand on your head growing cold
Death Thought surrounds me:
Not death untimely
A wasted life
The bad person
Quickening inside of me
“We taste anxiety.”
So rain burn through my throat
Bring Small Sleep
On you she floats
Withholding she holds me
“I’ll be where you’ve lost yourself.”
“In your emptiness I swell up.”