Porch

I want to share a porch
with her,
sift our souls through sieves
so violently they bleed
coarsely out, parched lips
clawing at the pen that won't carve a kiss
as my forehead moistens, devours
the sand that sticks to cloud.
Following rain my writings will sing
somewhere, deceived, deluded.
What will the English teachers make of us?
maybe probably
mockery.
maybe tears.
maybe just silence, pity.