Heart beating blood,
Flesh cradle stone,
Aloof to the sounds,
You hear when alone.
Inside of me there is entombed,
A part of me that is assumed,
To be dead until exhumed,
Until the final flower’s bloomed,
Inside of me there is entombed,
A part of me that is assumed,
To be dead until exhumed,
Until the final flower’s bloomed;
How do I hide from myself?
How frequent must my visits be?
to something other than me?
What weeping part put on shelf?