In The Colours, Megan Cherniak

Eyes shoot like stars, mouths smash, cheeks bout,
tongues run along necks like deserts,
up chins like mountains,
in mouths like wells
wherein secrets burst out.

Yours lifts words out of mine
like a bucket.
I’m drying as you drink
from the only oasis
where my heart dares sink.

The isolation is forever
if in this lonely badland
you never let me loose.

Your thoughts lift me like wind,
they carry me like sand,
at least, until from a well of stone
I’m blown, worn down,
and blown again into your hand.

If you’d only speak,
your intelligence, like fire,
would breathe life
into this small grain of sand.

And out of it,
like some hatched, enlightened egg,
would come a more enlightened man.