Always more
words growing over-
night into the blackness
whose ocean
rolls between us
in which we
won't let go
of the dreadful
effort to love
if I
was a sailor
or a dog with
an anchor tattooed
on my forehead, I
would sail
far out to sea
searching for
your mouth
then
the language must be
light as d**h
and just as fast:
there is so much
which I can
not say.