I am trying to find a word for love.
One that will fill up my mouth
with liquid silver,
drip down my chin
and pool, bubbling and warm,
in the trough of my chest.
I am looking for it
in darkened pictures frames around windows that should be lit.
I am looking for it
too earnestly, in violet glow from skies that have been set on fire.
I am looking for it
while hurling rocks at the moon, 
cursing its ethereal bend.
It's only paper and yet...

If I could only see it through,
this moon and me,
than perhaps silver would spill from my lips

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