The stars in the sky are sparse.
A solitary horn
pierces through the dark
And I am overcome by this feeling
That in the end, words will remain.
Not books, not letters, not journals
But the things I whispered in
your ears in crowded rooms
The secrets you pulled out of
your ribcage to give to me.
We marked our time with words
When the silence could not speak
Questions dangling in the air
(no one asked them)
And answers seeking homes,
(no one wanted them)
Which you scooped out
into my palms.
I like words more than pictures
They taste a certain way in my mouth
You know‚ like aluminium, like oranges
like salt, like sweat, like blood
sometimes toothpaste, sometimes bone
I like to turn them over on my tongue
And spit them out on to pages.
But pages rip, fly away, crumple
And god knows where
Where all our pages go
But I’ll remember your words,
So please, come here,
can I tell you everything?