playing away


here we lay skin down

our breaths only the distance between us  


the floor spread underneath

all affections pure 


where our bed used to be

we made the haunt of Argonauts


and it seemed to know

what our hearts planned-


to shape the geometry of our flesh

to count every hand that formed the floor below


we lay on the bed that at first was not ours

two bodies in tandem 




      when thou didst not… 

      I endowed thy purposes with word...


      -Prospero, The tempest


the morpheme of your language

is this weight in my tongue


I do not come from your country

your tongue knots my tongue


I do not belong to your country

my tongue broods in your tongue


a weight in my tongue

your tongue is everywhere it's everywhere now


soon it will be the word I forsake or the silence I keep

remembering what might have been-


the clarity of my pristine tongue

the purity of my language



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Sentinel Poetry #34

ONLINE MAGAZINE MONTHLY ...since December 2002

September 2005  ISSN 1479-425X

Editor: Amatoritsero Ede