Smooth as softened alabaster
Their scent to you an immeasurable bliss
Where the sun tucks the moon beneath his chin
Rests an endless dream no more than a wish

(4LINE)

Words as solid objects
take the shape of moving air
if intention could be felt through skin
what protection would one wear?

Thoughts are heavy objects
to speak them is relief
but the burden collects like leaden dust
around the listener’s feet.

The mind creates these objects
it thinks but cannot speak
and as these objects fill its space
they become the speaker, me.