Walnut

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Poetry dances me,
with its incorrigible vice.
In the beauty of silence
naked jawbones crack
a fleshless shudder.
Torrid words smirk,
as they fall into your walnut air
in small pieces.
Particles, heavy of scent,
cascade
from my mouth
exploding further
into this silence –
silence is the page we write on –
dance with me.

WilliWaw

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The wind came, inexorably
and swept me up, as she said,
tried to strip me bare,
remove my calluses perhaps
but most likely my skin –
the furniture of my metal.

We tussled. Her vexatious curses,
are lost, scattered around me.
Billowing, her breath is naught
but a whiney wail and she leaves
untouched; I am not unscathed
but I am silent.