salt in my lungs.

What was meant to flow
out of my twin eyes –
unrestrainedly, unapologetically –
has passed through the bony
passage, and has been stuck in
the chambers awhile now.

Upon further compulsion
of coercive neglection,
I pushed them further down.

To a different set of twins,
structured to help me live.

We now have velvet hills,
of fine grain salt.