There exists, somewhere

hidden in the hard sounds

your hands convey (idolatry

in dilating pressure) a

concrete sense (the brick

wall life hurtles toward)

of security

Pause holds no sway

in the dialect of our

love

(syllables unpronounced

by clumsy southern tongues)

Crimson sunsets over a

charlatan paradise go

unnoticed

but for (the stirring air on

a solitary face) your presence

I am not sure how I feel about this. I had the urge to play with hard sounds and strong words today. I do not know if anyone will be able to hear a difference but me.