Warm, Wet Blankets

I always write in the dark
Letting its soothing blank canvass wrap around me like the softest of shawls

It caresses me like the trembling hands of a newborns mother

She strokes my cheeks with gentle, clinging hands that bleed love into my veins like umbilical cords pour life into half formed vessels

I write myself into the pitch black, melting away from lamplight and sooth my sore edges until they gleam with razor blackness and slice prying eyes open once more

Sinking into rebirthing waters and remembering to forget to breathe
Aching from the urge to ooze and pour away

Longing for cheek to never meet shoulder
But instead to always flow into my mothers cupped palm