Chinese Lanterns

Suspended, fragile from the threads, every depth they can't fathom.
Still dressed in cast-offs, I could be china.
Sometimes I burn within air, but then they're always as far as a shrinking back,
Down amongst teacups and warm palms, amongst all these familiar things,
I could hold tight and wait for gravity to return.
Heat grows more tropical and makes me restless.
Just one more cigarette before
Caught between the rush of tide, blood bright;
It floods out every other word or fraud.
Consumes my elixir, my poison.
Burnt blood but blowing through as transparent as a lantern,
I take the smallest gestures to draw blood,
But I'm safe for this half hour.