the Girl who cried Wolfe

I'm floating downstream where the rapids crash and it's difficult to see, I catch glimpses of life like scenes in a film that that are as temporal as the breaths I strain to grasp, and sometimes when the waters calm, though the bank slips away from my fingertips I can still clasp flowers in the palms of my hands, keepsakes i wear as chains around my wrists, that tangle and choke with minutes of pearls i spew like swellings of stone, cradling my throat with listless crush, but though sometimes I grieve and fade I would not forsake this volatile womb for anything.