Stone words hard to wield,
		smooth as the moon washed of night,
		shape me into a weapon no man can see
		except with the eyes of his bones.
		Words tight as skin in a fleshless space,
		worn thin in a cage of a promise,
		design fast the leap into the air
		no man can follow, see nor stop
		with the scared silk of nightly kisses
		or daily prayers in his expectant hand.