silence is not all about
listening, perhaps it is about
predicting a thought or
tasting a moment
such as now, when i
would sheepishly count
the number of times your
breasts heaved to the
rhythm of your heartbeat,
painting the meaning
of sleep and of restlessness,
i find my eyes tracing
the glory of your brows,
your aquiline nose, your cheeks.
No comments:
Post a Comment