no words can follow the feelings i grow

no words can follow the feelings i grow
on the insides of my ribcage
and skull
as little notes of contentment
turn whole in the measures
and i leave roots between 'em
from wear and efforts relinquished
from staining the piano violet

euphoric i think
it floods and
flutters and rushed
and rose throatward
its petals descending
spiraling
controlled by palms pressing
against the front of my face
near the mouths of all elephants
trampling
unmistakably
purposefully lame
their petals descending

quieted i am simply pleased
to have somehow coaxed the sun
from his caves in every iceberg
where frozen i clutched
an antagonized fistful
a cupboard of stale
it settles mist-like with
intentions of wilting
i wilted i
wilted

i




wilted


but here he speaks of artistry
with awe and cobwebs strung high and
frédéric sighing in his wrists
and now
in mine we find
no waning inflorescence
now no hesitations weed themselves
between your words while
still i am unable to
speak any at all

i roam
with sun words
lined backwards and
fingerprints lazily left
and rightfully so exhilarated
but i have not yet found words
to follow the feelings i grow whenever
you lift me to see the view