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.