Poetry 'n Prose

The Language of Whales

If you touched me
my ribs would shatter and
my heart would fall through its storm
and flare like a coal,
caught by the wind

I know the course
is set by your eyes
and, as fire is contagious,
I need your ocean,
something southern and polar
to put me out,
to pat salt over my rawness,
to cauterize my weakness,
to caress my tender skin
of foamy calm,
to snuff out the panic of living
on this precipice
of extinction

If you’re going to touch me
touch every part,
every part
of me

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

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