i am ashamed at the dust,
ashamed that words can say so much
yet give too little, and my insomniac
heart yearns to have its words
received so it can fall asleep
because blood doesn't care about spare
diet or desertions, just about
getting its heartfelt message
across the dam we build between one
another, and within ourselves
because in an age of telex and zeroes
and ones the heart feels that only
what passes from pulse to pulse
and lip to lip makes a group of given words
hang, dangling, patient, waiting, waiting ...
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