Scaly breasts shudder with a gutter-gray cleaving.
She misses her breezy paramour's calming touch,
and their nostalgic days vent in pitched-white whispers.
If I could breathe back those mists, I might lessen her sorrow ...
Too-rigid muscles slide into aqua spasms.
She fidgets at the lack of fuss her fragments show,
and the brittle hours snap with metallic-blue cracks.
If I could massage those bursts, I might slacken her worry ...
A caustic blood simmers in vermilion bubbles.
She's whiling ways for the weak-spotted to crumble,
and languished minutes dissolve with yolk-yellow pops.
If I could stomach those boils, I might keep her from breaking.
The Day 17 NaPoWriMo prompt from ReadWritePoem is called something elemental. I chose to write about earth, but I included some aspects of water, wind and fire as well.