A play on words and I am made not a fool.
A play on me, however, and I am.
The rain drop on my lower lip is too nice,
too precise for me.
I stand beneath a sea of leaves and feel blown by a storm of words,
a tempest of things expressed.
Tonight I am covered in blood;
Stepped in far enough.
All I want to do is sit in a pool of silence,
and your dark hood.
But being without you,
and without the pool
of silence gathered.
I don’t know
what to do.