I miss, like a kiss from the sunshine shining against an Emerald City, minus the monkeys, what a pity I have not heard HIS voice.Listen. Is it calling or am I falling to a level of liquidity that liquefies my existence. It is just my perception? An exception? A reflection of what I need...want...bleed.
Am I the subject, the agent and not double 'o' seven but the doer of action or passive attraction. A verb zombie in a float pod of isolation on vacation because I cannot stand the lack of HIS voice over the rainbow one flew mighty high like a mezzo-soprano and hit the wall of exhaustion!
Rolled into fetal like a flower before it petals out creating a bed of blossom am I just a possum hanging from the tree of tranquility fading into vegetation? The forest doesn't call it consumes me. I send a feather on the winds of the weather to lick his larynx and part his lips if only he would utter I'm lost in the gutter without HIS voice.
-dena mckinnon
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