tied against sense

[trick]

my skin is on slow springs
strung between heart and mind;
fingers graze the tension wires,
drawing back hands with
nails tied to barbed nerves,
tips collecting spiderwebs
that are tightening it.

my tongue is swolen dry,
lying and too hot to move
against a fence of teeth
sharp from biting off words,
sounds caught and resting;
the stale air against my throat
weighting down the back of it.

my lungs attempt to compensate,
rapidly pulling the air closer;
skipping scent in leiu of breath
pinned by spine and chest,
pausing before shattering in mist,
the smoky dragon fire of night,
swallowing as the air escapes them.

my ears pound with the rhythm
of ocean rocks and seashells,
drowning in the breathing
drumming out the senses,
until the hands release;
blocking the mind from drawing
a sound choice from them.

my eyes adjust their focus,
their pupils dialate and wait;
further instruction is futile,
their amber cushions already
halos slowly stained with ink
wide and growing wider,
awaiting vision to reach them.