Exhaustion will begin to run deep within the creases under my eyes and upon my forehead. Those creases mingle with possibilities and these ones chat about solutions. I could take an iron to my face and they'd still stick around to pester me as I did with plenty much else. My jaw will crack and scrap against everything in my head each time she opens wide to inhale and exhale and hale. When is the last time I felt fresh skin without goosebumps, or a neck without hair on end, or bones that didn't shake and rattle as I slept and walked? When is the last time I felt comfortably cozy within my flesh and meat, so easily chopped. When is the last time I heaved and hoed against crashing waves? And when is the last time I sailed merrily along the silk of an ocean?
When is the last time I slept thoroughly throughout the night dreaming wonderful things of plenty much else?
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