the first two weeks

the air feels stale, parasitic and secretive in its desire 
to consume my naked body, naked
of anything that’d prove otherwise, grime and sin only,
transgressions of I’m not sure exactly

I once said the water made love to me but these nights 
I forget that I’ve bathed, tried to scrub 
at the callouses between my ears
soundtracked to heartbeat beats and words
that honestly haven’t made sense for days

am I allowed to say I’m scared, of the clouds
I saw last winter,
I forgot seasons existed and God made me cry
for His mercy, his and the neighbor’s and the neighbor's and

the windows are cracked open ever so slightly, 
the candles lit and the streetlamp clocking in,
I can write a few words at this bedtime hour but, I’m sorry
if none of it really means anything

the windows are cracked open ever so slightly