The Three Ts


Talk – 

is the rustling leaves in the soft wind,

in the whisper of sheets in the nooks of blue

is the nightly cricket’s song for fireflies,

is the frog’s call filling the air,

drunken on love, lust, on the scent

of this starlit summer dark

is the silence inside I call skin,

my second nature, my lack of will;

is the gurgle of the river as you

walk into its dark water to never

break the surface again…

                        – never was a language I could use.

2)  Tears

3)  Time

3 thoughts on “The Three Ts

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