2020.10.23.
Writing is my first home...
Writing is my first home of silenceThe second erupts from the body moving behind the words
Extensive bare beaches where the sea has never been
A desert where the fingers whisper their last crime
To write to you continuously... sand and more sand
Building the tallest walls of nothing within the blood
This passion you've kept for the objects
This skin-memory which exhales a disaster I don't know
The tongue full of moss
We would scatter hemlock seeds throughout the fog of our dreams
The mornings came as a stellar howl
And I'd follow your trail of sperm to the waterside
Other bodies of salt crossed the silence
Of this home built on the precarious saliva of the twilight