slackened armature where
flesh once was,

brought by the
moment is a flurry of once kisses
dampening this limpid bed

  that we will once again paint
  with the lacquer of the white noon,

  leaning closer
  is this heady fate of stone:

  i must

     unlearn the work
  of your hands, this clay molded
  into something ominously touchable

  forget the rudiments of soul
  that i once fastened still and straight
  with the weight of my tongue tasting
  the sweetness of losing myself
  in a thick crowd of intent murmurs
  and then finding myself still
      down on you, ships anchored
       to pure linen of sea with hands clenched to a taut grip

    drown the silence and seek
      roads in an uttered word's dwindling
      light - this gladsome dark now
   spreads its wings and then sings
      a frightful muting each to its
    own questions owning up to
     the answerlessness of all that has
    left me still
           down on you,
       clambering my way up
   yet deeper i am, felled
      and only so
      ineffably little, like a moment
   still heavy,
   still pressing on us both
    and separately.