There are words hiding
in the shadows of your body
Script too dark to write
for my wrist is too weak and ink too thin
Unstaged monologue
Unspoken song
Unwritten essay
Unravelled riddle
Grant me an inkling, my lover
a concession for my effort; a reward for my toil
So I can construe the omitted allusion
So I can hear the whispering voice of your soma
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 5:57 AM UTC
There are words hiding
in the shadows of your body
Script too dark to write
for my wrist is too weak and ink too thin
Unstaged monologue
Unspoken song
Unwritten essay
Unravelled riddle
Grant me an inkling, my lover
a concession for my effort; a reward for my toil
So I can construe the omitted allusion
So I can hear the whispering voice of your soma
Request permission to use this poem