Blue

Cobweb powdered breath

mist too thick around my temples

the pop of the toaster

couldn’t quite slice through it

cold toast,

butter wouldn’t melt if I begged it to.

I sleepwalk through the morning

and talk to you through frosted glass

my fingernails are down to their beds

and I stand at the ocean’s edge

my skull is a tunnel, not a wall

the wind whistles right through me

“I told you it would be too stormy to swim”

you laugh at my body

that’s covered in cold-coaxed landmines

my swimming costume taunts me too.

And though I can’t see them,

I know that my lips are blue.