I sing a song of              and             

In the white on white on white I dip my fingers 

into the                  thin like spiderwebs that 

wrap your face as a lover’s ring finger might    

As wind battered fingers pulling your tears off 

pink flesh like gum off the               of bleachers 

despite never knowing where it came from might

As hollows of palms spinning around the

          until the                           is coated with

white lies so thick they become pearls might

As hands that you’ll never touch live in the white 

blazes  in quarter note rest roars of flame  which 

spill white lies and     and charcoal that fill ridges 

and rivers of fingers  with which I sing

And I hide all the                      and you do too might

             mangled comprehensibility 

Wrote the                                  song which we 

                             danced to artificial

Too light to matter                   too heavy to bear

       I censor my own          you       

Do not know each other

                                                        met 6 years ago

I

                        sterile red rose peeled abloom

           history

                                                                         empty

           never to touch

                                                               and yet

Me

you