I place my fingers in-between the cracks of your walls,
Paying attention to the crumbling stone,
The silence that greets my touch. So much past,
So many idle conversations had right here;
Exhalations and tribulations spoken
Like rising smoke, curling around the yellow
Light of your singular lamp. Beneath your
Watchful eye; you, listening patiently,
Absorbing the meter of a language long forgotten.
No longer audible; forgotten by me, not you.
Your hard clay heavy with memory and the weathering
Of time, age; youth: my fingers pressed against your heart.
Reflected innocence in your hardened mirror.
Dirt beneath my finger-nails that will wash away
In the waters that satisfy your quiet urges,
And leave no discernible trace of my presence,
My momentary contact, with your damp flesh;
Fingers dug deep into the sands of your foundations,
Arm held fast by your timeless grip.
I yearn for you to tell me that you wish me to stay,
But you urge me on, past the corner,
Through the passageway. Tell me to forget,
Because you cannot. Tell me I cannot remain,
Because you must. I understand, though
My lungs taste your reminiscent hunger,
Breathing deep your insistence, your steadfast pride,
And my love for you grows, with every spec of dust,
And every whisper of your name,
Spoken over my skin with the caress of the breeze,
That fills the void of my comprehension with
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