Speak From The Yolk Sac Of Your Crocus Lips Poem by Mark Heathcote

Is your love an echo?
Is your love a typo, a drastic linguistic error?
A miss print,
Did I miss interpret it, did I hear you wrong.
Oh, it's only now I can't hear your thoughts
You're convoluted summer morning songs
Your minds, hearts words…
That used to lisp like the melt spring snow.
Can I use braille, I still might be swayed
By the touch of your breaths heady kiss…
On the back of my dumb hands my wrists.
The yolk sac of your crocus lips the saffron of your tongue.