sometimes I eat the sounds of words,
roll them on my tongue like a new lover
exploring the thick Cracks
and breathing delicate whispers into the soft spaces between pause while electric pulses
refuse
to
stop
even in the night
I wake to thoughts heavy like wool blankets
those shining eyes piercing even my dreams
and helpless, I find myself wanting to tell you
of your own influence
with recycled words.
for short of a new language
haven't we made love already
isn't it old already
vintage wine already in 2002
i drink to you
kiss your being with my lips purple with lust
this moment pregnant with our silence
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