When a Lover Asks

To say a joy
legitimizes tethers
of swallowing space,
like fire inside the whale.

The capacity of which
darkness tonight holds to flame.

When they ask why
every scribe is pouring
blood of aged bleeding,

Say the mundane of mindless
is where crying joy waits
for a hold.

The look of two lovers,
unspoken languages,
the crinkle of wrinkles,
lines laughing over.

Pockets of small olds
to dig for in the blank journey.

To say joy,
whispers a name of lover.

No article of words,
a flicker feeling in swallows.

To say a name,
legitimizes a tether
within the wallow.

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