Stone

I'm Made of Stone and it's Raining


Things beyond words
In the web of my head,

Still, silent,

Bubbly, zesty,

And still
My Flaccid labelgun
Clicks and whirs,

Even now.


The steam of lotus dew

In the vastness of a cavern,

Not pain, but worse,

Recessive numbness

Like lignocaine
On healthy flesh.


And it sounds
Pre-ten-ti-ous
I know, the words,

Tossed like salad

And I hope, you
Know what I mean.


In the space

Between her eyes

And mine,

A vacuum of intensity

Pulls with ardour

I move inside.



To speak

Yet cannot say,

'It's empty and it's cold,

A boundless hollow

That will never heal,

Swim with me, across

This frigid pool.


And so.
Instead
I say, 'I love you.'

Her breath moves

Soft and warm

Along my skin.

For a time, it is

Enough.


Articulate, or not,

The meaning that I
Need,
is not
In word or metaphor

Nor sex, or solitude.


The feelings have no names

But I feel them
Anyway.

And maybe,

Maybe, that's enough.