Cracking past the drapes clustered

Upon the sill, carefully moving past

The morning in a glaze of thin gauze,

It spots me, then glides along the walls

In my direction, then covers my legs

Completely-

I see them fading away under

The lights gentle duvet,

But I don’t sense its kiss of warmth-

Sweet, curling warmth

Underneath, it’s mellow hand

Outweighs the newer freshness

And overtakes the little sacs

Of air in my little lungs,

Already struggling under the weight

Of the rest.

Somehow, I can still breathe as I did,

Only, the next time I inhale,

It’s a little dry, and lacks the refreshing

Satisfaction it once gave back.

A new air flows through my blood,

Again floating my sisters words

Through to my front door-

Sweet, to my great pleasure,

Yet bringing with it none of the traits

They held dear.

It becomes only harder to breathe

The morning in, as that sweetness,

Overbearing, takes on a sickly flavour,

Similar to that of a child’s first taste

Of one too many greasy cakes.

Naturally, I run for the bathroom to urge it out.

The action feels bitter, on par with

The unsavouriness of beginning

With something too much to bear,

But, well, I am still full to the brim

With the voice of her, still

Brightening my dark little world.

Surely, to her, the words simply

Left her lips and dissipated, tinting

The space between our garden fences

A beautiful, shining yellow, to

Frolic about me in momentary assurance

And be forgotten outside, along

With the drying clothes,

Once the door slid closed behind us.

Words, however, are nothing if not crafty!

They must have entered through a slit

Under the door, having found me

Happy and well, to punish me for

Being so naive,

Deciding not to spare an inch of space

In my heart to just be;

Sickly and fatty, soon to cause a cavity.

How is it, that I find the strength to

Question its tyranny over me,

Doubled over and green in the face?

The sound of it, even, is not mine-

It’s my loving beam of a sisters,

Drifting back through as I

Swallow the last of the lot down.

I cannot believe that, for the first time

Since it has beaten alive,

My heart is waving white flags to

Her clutch of tender care upon it.

Be it so!