My friend has a tale in her eyes.
Strings of unholy stories.
making way to her tongue.
She trembles between a brewing coffee.
And an epiphany.
In a mute prayer, she hands me a blade.
Fiery edges that call the sun a child.
To untie the matted lies in my mouth.
I try, i move in effort to help her
blood and sand on my fingers.
she shakes in pain.
trembles and falls
We are here, two elements in-between galaxies.
asking for the truth on her tongue
When the story warms up in my palms.
It is of the story of a poem that reminds us of pain.
The inadequacies of a human.
The perfection of words that leave us empty.
She is resting now.
This storyteller.
