Your fool heart.

I have been above your hands
Curving wind, its dark tunnels
Watered sky, zero stars, none
Public ditches, from your mouth
To mine, fresh mildew
A kind of love that screeches
Laying owl eggs in an almost
Nest of hate, why do I, why do you
Restrain, the abundance of our tongues
Your words so approximate to mine
Taking pulse from nakedness, to want
Wanting to print it all; like a rapid heart