deep within
  this walled, scrunched heart
  a flower (a fool)
  whose mouth is open waiting for   the rain of words - we all are.
stretching in the dark as want outwrestles need in a melee
  of hands, of populace bumping
  into each other in an enclosed
  cage like two birds wary of each other's movements,

the threat of its gate, opening, freeing one, the other, staying,
  is the lilt of a song and the wilt of its sound dwindling as the urgent questions gnaw the bone of
silence trying to wring out light in the dark's tumultuous passing
  waters turning luminosities
  into liquid under my feet.

and now, the brew of unspoken
   petrichor stirs in the ground
and the clouds gossamer than ever,
i close my parasol with my head
    into the sky, waiting endlessly
for rain to quench the ivies of
   love's battlements!