(2. I, himalaya

• 
  you are wrong,
  i am not the sounds of heat light and pain
  but the waves and leaves and mute.
  
  you paint me violent and uncompromising even while I have silenced my wick
  and watched your lips snore into sleep, I am untouched by your hands,
  I am small simple speech when I am loving you,
  I am intangible monsoon when I am passionate,
  I am better feral when I am alone,
  and unfolding limbs like sex and ornamentation like floral and subversive
  in your calumnious nectar. I am ashamed into the depths of your syllables.
  
  I am not the sounds of heat weight and pain
  but the waves of leaves and mute, you are wrong
  when you no longer caress my flesh as your canvas or form words improperly.
  
  Inviolable. I now hum.