ich grolle nicht

sway
of
sound

sound
straight through

still behind every cell i look for you
look for you behind every shadow of beating vein
within each fountain of the eye, within each whitecap teeth

i pound of sound

my love my love my love
it is a kettledrum
my love my love
it is a sleeve,
a hide hiding mountables
the soft sinkable things
the soft vulnerabilities

kettledrummed i resound
reresound  beating beating out the tender vein
thick-knuckle down the fountain
the giant envelope of lovesong
a wave so deep i could curl up in
and ride  filled, annihilate,
gone

.  .  .