Markthetabor

The Tigris

lonely night 

 

i see you be 

 

 

shivering 

 

quaking in your seethe 



wholly 

 

less holy 

 

than me 



step from my ear 

 

to see 

 

my imagination 

 

less of me

 

than you 



an utterance of wander

 

to twitch my tongue 

 

the unintelligible 

 

that set you

 

to be free 



Pricking at my larynx

 

to your pleasure 

 

and my dismay of such 

 

screaming in forms of vocality 

 

you couldn’t acquire 

 

spiritually so