On days like this

Speak to me
before I wear out my skin with
fever fingers stroking in prayer
(Mor never told me there’d be days like this)
when pages turn on their own
and our importance
breaks through barriers
of pulsing beats
hidden among hearts
that we have been taught to pronounce
at great volume-
whereas silence is word upon word
stolen from the blind man
(Far never told me there’d be days like this)
I dream instead of streaming gutters but
nothing ever did me in as much as this
accessible route
open to pain and pleasure,
on days like this