I wish I could give you
a bouquet full of voice
highlighted with baby's breath
the breath of sleep
the breath of dreams
condensing into liquid
and feeding the flowers
of the Voice
the wrapping paper curling under them
like lips
that suck the champagne right out of the air
drunk off their own gasps and awe
at the bottom they are bound together
by Throat
by Larynx
in the shape of the gag
from which it emerges.

Their bodies are out of order,
their bellies outside of the mouth
at the tip of the blossoming flower
of Voice
digesting as dispersion
blood transparent as sound waves
crest fallen into silence
as if to say a word were to choke
on it and leave it behind.