A Poem A Day: Poem #47

she has spilled secrets like stormbursts on this paper,
hidden sentences like kisses that phrases have forgotten,
and the sounds of these secrets sail on subconscious waters,
sing through the sands of this dream, constructing mythic
castles from the quiet carnal whisperings of the water,
asking the night to count how many seasons have past
since last your fingers found my face,
and i have searched the days, page after page, but the
dumbness of everydays are not somedays and the truth
knows no hair like the strings i have erased from your
face,
and love letters get lost in the lazy sound of a larger lullaby,
a melodic pause where a pleasure pierces, carefully, precisely,
some small sound that makes silences from words i never
spoke but have never stopped uttering