Words
words
words
words
bubble up
from deep down the
hermit-pipe
of me.


She reads me.
Not trying twisting
wishing pushing
out and in on me.
She reads me.

She wrote me.
Scripted balanced touted
routed rounded messed with
me and all that she could see.
She wrote me.

She holds me.
Tightly brightly warmly full
and strongly bold,
with lack of grace to
see my newest face.
She holds me.

She held me.
Up and long above the figure
of herself and selfish wealth
immersed in candied
brittle glue to hold.
She held me.

She loves me.
Simply loudly proudly standing
by and solid woman known.
She loves me.

She loved she.
My mirror self she blessed
and stressed redressed
without without
a careless plan to own
herself.
She loved me.


Hermit pipe dismantle
piece by piece by piece
to clear the watered view
above,
to clear the watered view,
of love.

12/27/2005