Bellow-moon, belly-tight <br />over thrum of sleep- <br />drunk nights. I lie <br /> <br />fool-chiming and <br />marrow-bright. Portents of <br />jubilee hover. <br /> <br />Spare hands stroke <br />the clock, round vox <br />at miry throat, <br /> <br />we, wrapped in chain-mail <br />winking at the <br />bottom of the sea. <br /> <br />Full story, stop. No mark <br />ends here, where air lifts <br />and falls to a maudlin drop. <br /> <br />Soon, too soon, it dies, <br />we die <br />stillstruck beneath <br />bleb of streetlight, <br />pool of moon.<br /><br />Mia Lin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sound-synchronous/
