Sky Against Her.

She presses the sky against her lips,
It hides her face and denies her,
Breaths,
Without the scent of melancholy.

The heavy air that suffocates her,
Is soaked in sweat,
And smoke,
From a morning reading, of Macbeth.

Her skin is chilled on the outside,
Above subcutaneous tissue,
Sweat,
Like detergent on a week-old, freshly laundered shirt.