i can see my bronchioles
spreading out; red tendrils
like seaweed, or perhaps sea-soaked hair.
on a hill in the distance, hay bales
glisten golden in the evening light.
i want to stick my fingers
so deep inside; feel the softness
but i can't.
sea-salt air turns to hairspray,
vapours cloying in my lungs
like cigarette smoke, acrid and bitter.
i suffocate, my fingers dig in.
i let go.

- 'summer in the lungs of the unwilling' by me, 2025