We met on the brink of the epitome
And found the anticipation unbearable.
My words are liquid across my enunciating tongue;
We are languid in the night
Waiting for the sign for flight.
Conversing and Conserving,
Our Energies find outlets;
We speak from core
To suspected core,
Giving rise to vivid lines
Of who we are
And where we were.
When the peasants came knocking,
And put fists to your door
We were gripping the porcelain shrine
And praying their deceit.
Would you ask your God
For permission to tell untruth?
Permission comes from the remains of the ashes,
Shifting across our lawns like thunderclouds at night.
The horizon is clear, the forecast states sunshine and cumulonimbi.
The ashes disintegrate slowly
In the darkness of
our night.
[I borrow your paper boat
And put my world inside.]
