Seed in a Sofa Cushion

There is a seed in me never germinated

Scattered in a sofa cushion

Wishing we could have found a way to slow

See time like sand into glass blown hot still forming

Stretching from the kiln in common elements

The poetry masks and the questions never asked

Telephone line cut and draped like a tin can I kept whispering

Embarrassed and hungered to be listening

Let go and pick it up from time to time

The moonlight and the siren’s bite marks

In my torn jaw cast into the waves with the other bodies

Timing or essence decipher the madness

Of feeling stars alive and passing phases

Exiting one, felt like a waxing moon in blue eyes

Never that in the countered facts

How could I feel like that in the repartee

The quiet reader by the wall wanting her to speak

Putting words in her page because of what I thought we each might need

Fool’s errand exposure in the could be love’s aperture

Is but blindness

Mocking love, verbose spiritual insinuation, let it go

If it was it will come back to you, if not it never was

If not it never was