not the last poem

hollow words
pour like daydreams,
from chapped lips
into yearning ears.
my half-truths,
only half-hurt.
i've been echoing love poems,
through your vacant valleys.
but passionless repetitions do not empty.
by now,
they fulfill.
worm their way from your quivering feet,
to your churning mind.
and snuggle themselves into every crevice in between.
falsehoods
can be friendly too.