whatever you say

whatever you say, 

I am looking more deeply,

for the source of that say,

inside you.

for that cutting-edge, 

where your unsaidness

gives way 

to the substitutional, 

of that, that you say,

that, that leaves you

as words spoken.

it still carries the warmth

and the rich madness,

of either what can't be said,

or what can't find words to carry it.

for it is your unsaidness

that lives to inwardly speak to me.

it speaks, 

without audience's perspective in mind.

from an inner cathedral of your being,

that hardly even ventures into pronouncement.

it reeks of composition,

as if trees in the self-forest are one,

as if each impression of intake

meets an innocence of your being, being.

before self is composed of, 

and for the ongoing,

there is that dialogue.

it is in response to,

for experience's sake.

that is what I want to overhear

as it is your worth as a showering 

yet bathing to me . . .