On the Linen on the Skin

I'm the last choke, the sliding yoke, slow slowest slow
Slower draught, and needling muscle
Curling in palsy I bend inward

My bough inside yawns its aches
Your hand on my back, hopelessly

She's in the forest, breathless
She's hope, she's here, the lump in my throat
She's the name I'll never say
And only as an echo can I hear of her

I'm the last choke, the sidling yoke, slower ever slow
And my gut, dry as a stone, dry of song. I wilt, I crack
My riverbed run to ground
On the linen, on the skin
My insides out, her lips by my ear
She breathes for me, she breathes for me

She is the forest, she's the summer wild
She's hope, she's here, the lump in my throat
She's the name I'll never say
Only as an echo can I hear her

I'm seized and soundless
But hers is the voice I miss the most



Credits
Writer(s): Ex-isles
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