Like Clay

My mind feels like clay, unable to absorb and open.
Soft when pushed, and hardened by your orbiting suns
This thing pulses and turns in my hand, smiling and etching
Forward, reeling away like a tired drunk.

You stand at a safe distance, a stranger viewing the eclipse
Sheltering eyes and insides and spitting out on occasion
My fingers look old now and patched up with gauze
They are silent and inexpressive to your gaze.

Just enough to make me think about you when his arms
Are wrapped so tight around my chest…hands…neck
Just enough to make my dreams unclear and filled with red-wine
I am blushing and creeping around my house