Parrot my foot and imitate these hands shriving timbers from deep down inside This talk of love your empty 4 letter word speaking to my foot my hand responds as needed My mouth mirrors yours in speech or kissing but what do these lips speak but echoes? Traveling down my throat faster than the speed of light your shivering echoes leave loss Lies and much wrong Your four 4 letter word Dust in my wind… And if we must speak of love I need bigger words than those four characters tumbling in the air trapeze artists without nets just skipping past gravity We cannot fly we only tumble By Susan Daniels and Boomie Bol Boomie Bol in Italics
This poem was initiated by a response to my recent Friday Fictioneers post…between Susan and I the words fell out late at night. Susan is a genius at words so this is a mighty honor for me. Thanks again for indulging me Susan.