The sounds that slip

written by

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A soft tress on the summit of a quill
The she the her
Troubled by the smirk of
A lipless apparatus

The her the she
The blank uniform
The consistent something else
An anonymous consumer
Of the impounded gift

The voluminous mud
Moulded by two hands at a time
That jab the thickness with burrowed fingers
Forcing crannies into the mound.

Two are sufficient
It smears the cleft into her mouth
Through which she hisses
Sounds that slip past the case
And into the transparency of vapour.

© Ava