lapping at the edges of my scar;
like legs of wine,
running on my skin.
hot steam is blown by an unseen wind;
it joins with the smoke of six candles,
who skim their light across the mineral pond.
a piano playing,
the smell of trees,
and i am sinking,
beneath the blanket,
i am protected from the fire outside,
but the tornado screams
as my cover is sucked away.
now cold, i am forced back into reality.
faced with indifference,
i am so far removed from the depths of my bath.
maybe, you just had to be there…