i went to the kitchen, after we hung up
i heard that confused mockingbird--
the one who professes day of night, or
has too much overbearing competition during the former--
or, even prettier a thought--KNOWS, but chooses the latter...
and was transported to
the hours with your voice in my ear
to the making, the building of ,
the nest he so longingly, desperately, achingly seeks...
the nest no one knows
what tree will proffer fork of branch for
or if you will ever harken to the song
and come forth to the light -- to my dark--
and offer to co-inhabit
one physical hunger -- by tasting, chewing, swallowing
the other.. the others...
deepened. listening, desiring, knowing
being one with and of and in his plea.
i still long for you on my tongue...
Pink Depression Glass at the Thrift Store
2 hours ago