Who Do I Talk To? Poem by L.B. Temuco

I want to be better
than me
the way you are better
than you,
I want to be not
always feeling inside,
the way dreams dream.
Who do I talk to
when I cannot talk to you,
ever gather in your soul
nothing, that floats there.
What do I say now in seconds
not interminable hours,
do I wait for the stain
of speaking to spread across
pillowed-lips.
I have no ear for loudness,
it is autumn,
silence has long since
left its cluttered sound,
only withered looks close
the air between us.
Questions!
Hang blood red
in dessication,
Oh hopeless love
turn dry and claret too,
to fall and be crushed
on the cold gravel,
under the twisting shadows
of grey mocking birds, or
to kiss the warm earth
and wait for rain