I don't know the name,
or purpose,
of that voice climbing out of you,
with its claws digging into the rocky wall of your throat.
Cerulean secrets and crimson wishes for fame,
you list off in the voice elongated and bottomless.
When you sigh, breathing it out like an improvised note,
the voice falls back into your sunken red stomach, still heavy with hunger.
Delilah Miller
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-improvised-note/
