Don’t
you know me
I
am the sound
that
small fleeting sound
that
echo’s in your ear
as
you stretch out
in
the morning,
in
the moment between dreams
the
one you live
and
the one you sleep
I
am the hands
that
flutter through air
like
feathers
like
a hacksaw cutting through metal
call
me tornado
I
can not decide what I am
beautiful
or horrible
but
always trying
to
be known, to be understood
I
would rather be the breath
that
passes from your lips
into
another’s
giving
life to love
or
something like it
who
am I to judge
I
imagine myself
as
the sound that echoes in your ear
in
the instance of creation
that
joy filled prideful noise
that
begins as nothing,
requires
you to hone it down
If
I were that happy noise
I
would be so pleased to belong to you
I
would wrap myself first
around
your arms
so
that you could not forget to play me
eyelids
closed and feeling all the lashes
the
fine bones that surround them
cheeks
and jawline
I
would sweep down the curve
of
your clavicle
paying
careful attention
to
the column of your neck
and
I would rest in the hollow
above
your heart
Keep
me there
like
a locket
and
when you need to remember
that
you are loved
open
me up
You
know me
I
am the sound
of
palms finding, of fingertips
and
forearms, pale as a swans long neck
of
bones moving under the skin
of
sweat that turns to sugar on the tongue
and
callouses, most beautiful accoutrement
it
was you who taught me
to
imagine the lives between the layers
memories,
of all the strings touched
or
caressed or pulled and plucked
into
new life
if
you’re quiet you can hear me
I
am a whisper of skin
a song sung between bodies
I
am a beat
bombom
bombom
I
am the blood
and
the bone and the flesh
of
something certain
You
will never hear me
from
someone else.
