you spoke the words I've needed,
gave proper meaning
language of dreams,
and I, for once, was
speechless, unable to voice the emotion
propelled by thoughts exposed,
flew straight down to desire's cellar door,
locked for years and years.
Volumes, written, unwritten,
lay just past a closed past but
so close, safe now, beneath
the house of lies
I'd built my life in, carrying one small
seed, a token of hope, and there's somehow
promise of growth,
dark as it is
With a match struck to aid the hint
of moonlight offering, wiggling
through slats, never filled in,
I can see well enough.
simple as the turn. The sphere remains.
I come for long
lost heart of flesh.
The Sunday Whirl
Write at the Merge