Words on Wet Lips

There is no safe shore
to land adrift
with you
my November guest,
lingering so stubbornly
on my skin
with whispering lips
wet with words declining
their very existence
with-holding from you
the right to use them
nevertheless going on...

"Thee's a soft breeze
on my cheek"

all the while
ceaselessly, mercilessly
life breaking sharp surfs
upon odd shoals
which can swallow
despite us thinking them
kindly shallow.


If you venture
with that vagrant
language drifter
once again
on the grounds of
souls needing their rest
there will be no room
for sorrow
nor for regrets

let go of your sorrow
my November guest
I found you among the graves
and we tucked our words together
mixing it up in beautiful whispers

you'll need to bring
your softest embrace
the most smooth
and the most soothing,
the most incautious
this time bold but wordless
and lay it upon
that vagrant,
language drifter.
Flora