Sounds

Blood river sway in my veins

A trek to the heart

Drunk, swaying and singing.

Towards lap of the heart.

I am hollow.

My ears only greet music

Birds chirp beneath my skin

The cells in my feet heed to it.

If you were sound, you’d be flute and drum.

Or that of the gushing sea.

And if your sounds crumbled into ash,

I’d smear it on my ephemeral body.