These Words Poem by Pd Lyons

from the tiredness of my bones
not syllables of warm water
mouths rather emanate rich with marrow
silent sensations hot cold soft foetal
crescents of your ears
depth deeper than you know of your eyes
vast rift of tears your endless heart alone
sometimes in the dark
I have been a labour for you silently aloud
likewise you should read these words so unlike other words each window through which invisible creatures
of what cannot be said climb