The unspoken words and thick air always lingers but never settles. No
senses can reach this message, I want them
written on paper, murmured in a coy way, tastelessly forced upon me to devour, sung until the music notes are so bright
that crows toes curl at my squinting wrinkles.
What scientists can’t prove
is the nothing of human connection, what hearts tend to lose
is instinct without dissection.
I have no proof and it’s all in my head so the unspoken words and
thick, choking, air,
squeeze out of my lungs. escape from my mouth and into
evidence.
Instead.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
The unspoken words and thick air always lingers but never settles. No
senses can reach this message, I want them
written on paper, murmured in a coy way, tastelessly forced upon me to devour, sung until the music notes are so bright
that crows toes curl at my squinting wrinkles.
What scientists can’t prove
is the nothing of human connection, what hearts tend to lose
is instinct without dissection.
I have no proof and it’s all in my head so the unspoken words and
thick, choking, air,
squeeze out of my lungs. escape from my mouth and into
evidence.
Instead.
Request permission to use this poem