fill me
with all the spaces
and all the nooks
of grandmother houses
all lined with shelves and seashells
lung-fulls
of dusty, cathedral air
colored and holy
with light from the stained glass
among the frozen pews
inhale
great bowls of that which surrounds tightrope walkers
balanced from end to end,
fistfuls
of what lies beneath chairs,
the whispers that reside in the folds of your ear,
the wind that escapes through your fingers
until i can't take anymore of it
until i can't love any more
