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...