The hand of blood and bone

The hand of blood and bone

The hand of blood and bone
           picks roses of dear perfection
things of time
           that pass simply away

The back and forth
           of banter on all
lovers’ lips
           bonded bodies
that slip effortlessly
           into sleep

Sometimes I speak
           for the sake of speaking
and then listen
           to how silence closes in
around my words

           Silence

John Lyons

 

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