Priorities

Shadows should be charged
With espionage, really.
They pry me open
Like a can of slimy
Thoughts and grimy emotions
And, engulfing them, replenish
Me with fresh foam, a warm breeze,
The faint scent of foreign salts…
Like a cheap cologne or
Expensive detergent.

A summer chill brings goosebumps
Which don’t so easily deflate:
They spread like a rash until
My skin is opaque, crystalline.
My form erodes.

I was silly, honestly,
To claim ownership of what was not
Mine; to assume that shadows’
Affinities are permanent.
I struggle to recall the aromas
Of those wisps of darkness;
I grasp in the blindness of dawn
For the hint of a silhouette.

I turn my back,
And all I perceive is light.

I am awake,
I am alone.