The Hymn Of Love

Stoma 
opens, ejects the scream. 

Oh, my god. 
The ink spilled 
on the sheet, hiding the code. 

The scared veins 
of pure honey, wets the lips― 
of gills. There is no salt. 

The water explodes 
bursting the dam. No spine was 
worth of robbery. 

Golden nuggets 
are displayed now. Would you 
bargain the uphill? 

The nightmares begin again.