The Well

 

I trace the sound of your voice,

to a well in my head.

Your mouth; a bucket of syllables,

spouting solace,

ricocheting off your vertical circular cell.

You a black balloon,

on a plate of ripples.

The languor of our lagoon,

a fluid body snaring you.

An iceberg,

treading Pleroma.

Your whispered echoes traverse,

the depths. I coyly recognise,

the wrinkled words uttered from

the bottom of my well.

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Dear Joe,

Excellent imagery!

Well done!

The Bard

Very expressive! Well crafted Joe

Cheers Ilan
Fantastic! Brain food! Thanks for sharing! Victoria

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