Sonograms In Space
We are like whales,
Bleating out coordinates, thoughts
Communicating through our mediums
Touching through internal sound
Moby Dick is my poisonous pride
Aghast, I will chase the prize
With bugle call and torn ship
Never stopping....
She reaches through the screen
I cannot understand what she says
Of the future
But i can hear her heart bleating
As we merge beyond words
Copyright © Justin Debrosse | Year Posted 2012
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