Thursday, April 26, 2012


I want our words to be like a goldmine -
each raw nugget to reveal a treasure, only for us,
one we could keep in our memory box and polish
year after year until we shine
pure light in the dark corner of our secrets.
Instead we walk steadily into a point of no return
where only silence is golden
where we give each other wooden nickels
and pretend they are good currency.
every word we try is a mine to trip over
and we do, we lose a leg here, a heart there,
in fear this bubble of our minimal existence will explode
into fragments so small any wind could blow us away
turn us, this fractured intimacy, into dust.
When this big bang happen we will settle at last,
attached to old spider webs we spun ourselves
and our bodies will be wrapped in their strings
forgotten, mummified, until the final storm will tear the web,
strings flying torn where we were hanging once
and we will leave no trace for each other to hang on to.

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