Gray Words
Gray Words
With those lips the multitudes
Speak, giggle, and grin affectionate
Phonemes that silently nail into
Our flesh which moves with
Starving thirst for caressing, or any
Sign of belonging to a single
Beating, pulsing like turbulent
Waves that consume us and
Breathe cool upon a smoldering
Aching which has kissed my lips,
Far traveled, far stolen
Too long amongst the unquenched;
There exist too many dark words
Shaded in
Brilliance, like gleaming paint, it
Chipped away when the rains and
Sun beat down, that Maternal life
In which we lay.
Lips lingering between the obscure and
Gleam the hopes of girls whose
Virgin pages burn on top
The still blue ambers among the
Ashen words spoken with
Lips cracked at their center.
Why do we, like children,
Foresee paths not yet set,
The dank woods that we lost
Ourselves in,
But which open to Meadow;
With newly grasses that sway
Even in the rains, and the winds
And touch warmly the sky.
Oh, they are simple words, spoken
Thoughtlessly in multitudes
Painted too often gray, staining burnt
Their owners’ mouths to taste of ash.
No, I seek the meadow. I seek
With my hands among the covers.
With my lips, I find you I
Whisper their movement,
To you at the good dawn.
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