Orange Days

Humidity has long since died down ma cherie
but still crawling about in our shut eyed theaters and chained bodies.
Our bones are beginning to bend
as the orange days begin to
creep in.
The air filling my lungs
is heavy with the burning of memories
that dig deeper holes with each gaze
into thoughts past.
But, the weight of my own thought
will not wear me down just yet.
With a mute tongue that bleeds as it begins to speak,
I plead into the bleeding sunsets of our screams
to lift me unto dead leaves upon her eyes,
and into sun soaked dreams.
I cannot yet see.