Monday, 12 September 2011

I was teased by your inquiries,
I was spit out by your words,
your assertions of me and my bones,
my translucent weaknesses,
and transcendent desires.

When your eyes are pain,
and your sounds are in vain,
I find I wonder about what could be lost,
and what is currently found.

When the water has boiled,
and the heart become ash,
I find that you are still rain,
whose moisture I crave.

And now in my bed,
while thinking of my pain,
Someday perhaps,
you will make it rain...
And perhaps,
the flowers in my rock,
can bloom again.

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