you're waiting for words from me. but a jazzed
cat got my tongue. i consider and park them over
there and more cleanly ahead and away. your
eyes grow larger with prospect, a vacant weight.
it is in the recess that my elegance comes through,
the silence magnetic, in a way words cannot be.
my face feels your direction, awareness is of the
whiteness of wisdom in an even whiter cloud
from which i receive, retrieve. i taste it like the
communion it is. you gulp it down. i do not envy
you. and not your haste, which is piercing and hot.
seasofme070217
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parallaxis
Poetryparallax /ˈpærəˌlæks/ noun 1. an apparent change in the position of an object resulting from a change in position of the observer 2. an appar...
