the refractory lung.

the refractory lung, acting as a barathrum of air; gasping for more of something intangible and less of something noticeable.
i dreamed of snow in a globe for all the world to see, but the populace has sewn shut their eyes and apologized with heavy hearts, hearts so heavy that they sink to the bottom of stomachs, eyes too big for their stomachs, and became sick with hearts in their throats trying to choke their way out and up and down.
it was on a bowl of porcelain he cooled his face and the sour smell met his nose every so often, reminding him of the comfort of addiction and the incursion of body when it wants versus when it needs.
i know that needing him has become quotidian; so common is it to wake in the middle of the night just to make sure i haven't become caitiff in my sleep through the horrible places my mind wanders and i wonder how selcouth it would be to wake up without experiencing a horrible dream, diseased with pontificated points of thespian comedy that reminds me of my own autophoby.
i became erubescent and tacit when he told me what i had said was beautiful. we both know it was amphigorous and trite, an end to an era is all i had to offer then and now.