Hypocorism
New member
- Mar 19, 2009
- 3
- 0
- 1
You, breath of silent sustenance exhaled
And strange incantation: Poem, of my rite!
What sentience fills my lips that parched and scaled
Your true enigma binds them to unite?
How you read me like a breviary
On a shelf, my eyes though closed or gaping
Mouthlike and unseeing on the airy
Syllable before me hear the shaping
Of the vowels you harmoniously
Intermatch; your haunting diapasons
Trouble hands, ears, all erroneously
Seeming with the whisperings of nascence.
No good remains; devoured with my eyes,
Your healing breath is wasted in my sighs.
And strange incantation: Poem, of my rite!
What sentience fills my lips that parched and scaled
Your true enigma binds them to unite?
How you read me like a breviary
On a shelf, my eyes though closed or gaping
Mouthlike and unseeing on the airy
Syllable before me hear the shaping
Of the vowels you harmoniously
Intermatch; your haunting diapasons
Trouble hands, ears, all erroneously
Seeming with the whisperings of nascence.
No good remains; devoured with my eyes,
Your healing breath is wasted in my sighs.