is the sponge dry?
Every ounce, every drop is precious.
When you lay your head down,
will you say,
did I?
Did I squeeeeze every drop?
How many pearls roll into the gutter,
liquid time held in an embrace.

The chorus will sing to her last breath,
oh heart, turn and say –
Squeeze, every ounce, every drop is precious.
Oh my I, my me, my who, my questions,
my love – tangled in spaghetti words we are…
take the discarded me, the discarded I and say;
Squeeze – every ounce, every drop is precious.

As harsh as wires wrapped tightly around my wrists,
her throat is dry, one day, just a sip, a taste, did I feel the salt of an oceans breeze?
Time is running a triathlon, the finish line is optimistic at best.
You look down, pen to paper but even with the dearest heart it’s gone.
We gamble an hour but somewhere, she’s fallen on her knees and screams.

And they are present, immersed in writings,
decaying in open fields, humming ‘we were here, we stood in flight’.
Oh heart, turn and say – it’s only a single dance,
every ounce,
every drop
is precious.