Shut

I stood by you

seeing your starched

blue and green shirt,

dirty from time,

as stiff as your mind

and soiled from your eagerness.

Too eager to be interesting.

You came close - too close -

for there was just a pin of daylight and breath

that slipped between us.

Your mouth bled out ten thousand letters,

saying nothing,

followed by silence,

or maybe sound,

the sound of the whispers

of the Gardenia whose fragrance

fills the nostrils

of those who tend to notice

such things.

In times like these,

words are just markers for time,

with

nothing

found in them.

Only the butterfly and the swallow

know what it is to be,

and they have nothing,

yes nothing,

to say.

Existence bears no voice.

Bored of you and your noise,

I cover my ears

with thoughts of yesterday,

when

I walked sideways down a path

of dust

left behind from constructions,

a rubble to mark our travels

like the slime

behind

a moving slug.

Yellow is the sky,

streaks bleached from the heat,

and breathing takes effort,

as does everything

if it is necessary.

Again,

I hear you droaning, and wonder

where you would be

without me,

if not here,

your need filled by my presence, your clamoring begging to

find some sort of resonance

in

my silent ears.

Truth is,

my womanness has no craving

for the sweat that builds

in the crevice where your leg

folds

when I hear your voice.

Only that which is precious

draws me

towards its nooks

and secrets.

Bored of you

and your breath that

reaks of turmeric and curry,

I lean outward,

away from how you bind me.

Quiet is my only freedom.

Noticing I find you repugnant,

your mouth closes,

your words cease,

and the singing of the birds

flow around and within me,

reminding me of how I danced with the fireflies as a child,

wishing nothing

would be spoken

of my childhood.

When silent, I no longer

perceive you

in phrases and run-ons.

You are lovely with a shut mouth,

your ignorance hid

like a whore dressed in a ballgown.

Words get in the way of us,

and,

I speak little of the way

to my heart.

My tiny fingers seek your hand

and

touch the only part of you that is soft

and worthy, and I realize

I hear you, want you,

only in your

Silence.