Blue Sky through Bare Branches.

I look, upwards, at blue sky through bare branches,
the dewy wet of cool, green grass on my back,
clinging,
sinking,
pulling me further away from this place.
I long for the stillness of being
found only in the shedding of this meat that plants me here.

Oh, to touch those spaces in-between.
To graze my lips upon that azure skin.
O, opiate kiss,
Like a stone, skipping across limpid pools.
let me caress that face with my lips and sink into your oblivion.
Your everything!
But I am bound,
here,
by bare branches,
between me and a beckoning sky.
Biting my lip to taste blood,
I long to smear red what God has painted blue.

David Estringel

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