I don't know the name, <br />or purpose, <br />of that voice climbing out of you, <br />with its claws digging into the rocky wall of your throat. <br />Cerulean secrets and crimson wishes for fame, <br />you list off in the voice elongated and bottomless. <br />When you sigh, breathing it out like an improvised note, <br />the voice falls back into your sunken red stomach, still heavy with hunger.<br /><br />Delilah Miller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-improvised-note/
