it’s the bold ones, isn’t it?
always the bold ones…
but now there are days when words cling to my fingertips,
sticking their claws beneath my nails,
not wanting to let go their silent dimension
and be born into the poorer, much louder space of my clay.
in those days i can almost hear them scream
as they strive to crawl back into the womb of my mind,
hating the shallow sunlight and the dim colours fencing them,
hating the barbed wire of ink sinking in their flesh
and the frigid purpose given to them by empty eyes,
just wanting to be left alone and breed and grow
into a world of their own,
ignoring the sand and the clay.
especially the clay.
sand doesn’t hurt them – it never did.
it never could…
but i wish i could drink a latte in a bar, one excruciatingly sunny morning, very early,
i wish the sun blinded me
and coffee burned my tongue,
and all that happened while words would have their way right there,
on my fingertips,
unafraid of sunlight anymore,
delivering baby meanings into the nursery of my coffee cup
and climaxing over and over again on my lips
now silent no more


© Liliana Negoi


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