[Laika]: 661.Poetry.Crime of Passion.IV

and this air is too heavy for me to breathe
raw gasps, fingertips that eat through skin
the warmth by my side filled with salt
            winds blow at southern seas, the windows have no glass
my love, mine, the hip on my thigh demands
palm bites my breast like a viper

            I lay still, holding my breath
listening to the silk sheets at the bedpost
     stirring, I am deepest water
         black and spilling