Quickening

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."