Textension

Dear,

who honeyed writes  -

aways the fretted night,



over the distance of hours,

concrete, clouds

and seas - of sun and tragedy, 

you tap. I read,

you dare, till longings

yearn in my crushed heart

that silent, shouts, if

only -

imagines

miscellaneous aches for 

arms untwined, squeezes droplets

wept and dried unshone -

in lives unprintable -

unpublished - like

our child repeatedly,

hygienically 

effaced from backlit screens,

deleted - lost

in forgettable rhymeless 

reasons. Yours,



Unvocal, cries.



X