Between The Hours

I say hello to you,
Who scratch not the surface,
Nor see beyond the plumage
That covers me like gold.
Cascades of thought are rolling
Down.
The citadel is falling like
My crown,
Between the hours
That caress this heart.
The lips,
The lips are treason-shaped
And sloping in a frown, like twigs
Whose fruit, although appealing,
Proves too weighty to be held.
The lips are pointing to the soul
In languages you call unknown
They crush the very tip
And further in they go.

This…mind…flies…

But I say,
Mouth dry, eyes shy, voice full of lie,
Hello to you…