Uncle sun warms my weary skin as I bathe my body in the sweet and silky beams of dust that shoot upon the naked canvas of what once was suffocated and shut out no more. Mercy falls and freedom fails, overflowing, bursting, bubbling, blasting off, burning deep within a familiar pit, these feels feel like the feeling of home. Touch my puddle, drink my mist, taste my fingers, lick my kiss. I’m not dirty, but far from clean. Wash me?
