Dust this dust from my fingers,
my cheeks muddy with the crystalline texture as it falls onto me from the cliffside.
I am unable to shake my head, for fear it will snap off
and you are still running to my aid.
I lie here, my teeth on display,
my world parallel to the sky
a sepulchre in the midst of day.
I warm up to this rain, as it scrubs me clean of the mess
but it takes longer than I expected.
Your gleaming eyes are paramount, the fire mixing with the sunshine
drying me from the rain
the traces of dust done, and here I am