Grasping

Odd that letting go gives you something to reach for.

Lastnight I swallowed the devil

He climbed into my bed, beside me, his skin was smooth as glass broken by bristles not unlike that of a cured pig. I held still not daring to breath, but his hand apon my shoulder, told me there was no where to hide. The devil was hot like a child with a fever. Into my ear he whispered with a voice like velvet and snowfall "I am seeking concealment." .....

In our bed

I'm sleeping in your gently warmed shape

a form for a human girl 

dreaming into your empty imprint

waiting for you to bring home the bread

colours

Do colours really invoke emotions or are the emotions already there and we excuse them on the colours ?