Words
My lovers
Unfaithful, maddening lovers
Taunting me with
How sweetly they lay, now lie with another
Weaving immortal magic
Words
My gorgeous tyrants
Locking me up in a prison
That for some reason
I never want to leave
Words
Doors. Mirrors?
No, doors – I know they are doors
That I know open out
To wondrous things
(Because once they did)
But for which now, I can’t seem to find
The keys
Words
Once a surge. An
ecstatic rush.
Now a trickle. A drought.
I trace the parched
cracks
And I wait.
It will rain.
(It must, must it not?)
Words
Still. Crouching. Surly.
Taut with unleashed lightning.
Waiting for their master
“Not you,” they whisper cruelly.
“Not you. You are just a stable hand
I retreat
And wait
For the rains
