Please is Not a Word, It is a Place

Please, is

Not a word..it

is a place

you and i

we go there

that empty little cell

walled with my heart

there is naught but a chair

for i, prisoner

and i don't need

your fingers down

my throat

or

your fist up my cunt

to find myself

in that room

with you..

a broken sparrow

falls from my parted lips

and lies

on the floor

between us.

look, do you see

do you see

how fast its heart is beating/

the sound of its wings

deafens us

both.

Moments pass.

there IS no ego here

it is the

softest and most silent of

crucifixions..

please is Not a word

it is a place

it is the bareness of holy ground

that gapes

and burns

and puddleshimmershivers..

and i

i wait for you

to reach down

eyes on mine

gently cup that broken sparrow

and kiss it...