the art of conversation
lay hold of horizontal axis lie
ear to touch the soft of sound
lay motionless in this warm cocoon
of striped knitting to cotton blends the
sounds so familiar
static
to
consonant ends
to
fretting of silence that contends not to destroy
but the effects seemingly so
so
tied up in words
and the art is
the conversation tends to-in keeping with the preparation-
make well aware of presence
and we might fall closer
due to our utter knowledge of each other
how could you deny the presence of
someone with whom you are eager to speak
and that knowledge that you still
(words here)
is the hope stored dormant till we meet
quietly again
or if you kept me close to cheek
to feel a breath
(is what I was thinking)
sometimes I just want to feel your breath
in the same space as mine

what blankets cannot bring to warmth
stays frozen
and my thoughts are of the steams which evaporate quickly
that even appear visible to sight
but last no longer than the night can hold back the eastern rise
and through the floor vents it might ensnare your feet
could I claim to stay longer-would I could, I would lie
and the air, invisible, is less than seen
and so am I in thought in dream
its always there and faithful to
let go awful steam to vibrate with directive
yet to find myself
as transient as the vapor to afternoon skies

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