When I write them
And send them
Into the void?
Where they go
When I speak them?
Do they touch you
With my accent
Or voice?
I have only words,
Poor, poor words
While you dabble
In colourful scarfs;
Tell me,
I want to know,
I need to reach
Your heart.
I want to know
Where words go
On evenings
When you tell me
My eyes are green,
Am I an MS
In a bejewelled bottle
Mired
In the Sargasso Sea?
Do I bear words of love
And torment,
Or wrapped in weeds
call without heed?
Am I stranded,
In shallows forever,
Haunted
By pale ghosts of need?