This desk is authentic. My word has etched into the wood your damage, your contact, your breath. A locked smile is another sentence absorbed. Night time lets flow the whirlpool rings when I go to the surface, to the image and pass the edge of periods. I became aware here, I came passing your hesitation, inserting, you know, that you and I have known. Your beam almost stands in answer, but confusion sets directly to movement and I don’t roll until called upon, I don’t come promoting. Your air is restricted, monopolized. Your promise is restricted to stone, but really, no promise / no condition means this won’t take the hammer. A small double meaning: I brush the code to your eye and my center which dies won’t cross desire.
The second stanza is as gold sparkles glittering in the black static of misunderstanding. A desk, of clearly rejected scraps, brings forth from its fragments a wet and polished pearl.
thanks all for your comments, they're appreciated! both, my dear! this one was originally written about 10 years ago, but yesterday I translated it into japanese, then translated it back into english (which put one wildly different twist to it), then tweaked a bit, and wallah!
