Pipes

and underneath our colouring, we're all full of stories.
indigo as love
and who could put one story above another
(old scars
deeply sour in our blood)

the nightmares
pulsing in yellow
losing out breathing in wandering where there is more
waking up to fruitless
dim
white
(where are you)

peace, perfect in lavendar
crimson in its hunger
the tired red of eyes
bloodied
flowered bodies
every
body

a flower

and stories flowing
mouth to mouth
ritualized
tender
chanting and swaying

ancient as lines on palms

underneath my skin
yours
burnt and pale and touched
lies our breath
sullied, buried, storied
us.

breathing
...and who puts one breath above another...