It's never the words

It's never the words, 
before some birds, 
sense the echo of gunfire. 
It leads them to flee their trees. 
We women rest with our mechanical tentacles, 
and cardboard breasts. 
As if love was an absolute penance. 
I bet most have yet to crawl aside, 
being alone like a soldiers wife, 
like a queen who's sole passion, 
is bearing life. 
I wore it well once; 
a coffee stained kiss, 
dripping from the ceiling, 
of my parted fingertips. 
I was a dreamer then, 
wondering when a penny, 
would feel it's limbs 
and swim to the surface of a fountain tide, 
coming to find luck. 
is nothing more than a severed head, 
picked from a pocket, 
placed in a palm, 
and tossed towards heaven, 
I was four days shy of seven, I remembered on September third, 
two thousand ten, 
"Dear God", I spoke. 
Trying not to choke on twenty years of silence, 
bursting like an aqueduct in my throat, 
if only my lungs could float away from me, 
as if helium balloons. 
Instead, of collapsing inwards, 
two constructed tombs. 
New wounds for my wooden spoon spine. 
I'm tired of stirring your clouds, 
into my cup full of sky. 
I didn't lie, 
and it's ridiculous to carry on like this, 
but I do, 
Because. 
I Love You.  

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[DriDri]

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