Speak slow with savoured words these soft yearnings.
Speak soft of things never spoken. For words scare the ibis and carrion crow which circle and caw above this simple bed.
Where we lie simply, and roll simply amongst the long curling legs that rise above like ivory eyed pedestals of things beautiful and true.
And yet, this simple bed will not hold these simple bodies- beautiful and broken. And the sanctity of words unspoken held us by it's token as we passed into the night with all we left unspoken.
So speak slow As we pass into the night. So speak soft Under moon burnt light- But speak! Ye poets, Ye swine, Ye ****! Speak and be heard before the burning sun with voice, and pen and scorching scent! Or suffer the sleep and endless repent.