We Don't Speak

The big bad something

Decides it’s time to talk,

Pounding,

Behind eyes,

Spherical,

The bullets shoot you,

And the hiding isn’t easy.

 

The thing about “something” is,

I wear it on my face,

A compass,

A voyage across my lips,

On my skin bumps,

Condensation of hope,

Advertising,

Something gets the better of me.

 

If words were fists

I’d beat a book out of you,

But I’m not so great with words,

The message is lost,

 Somewhere

at the bottom of my drink.

Slicing silence in the air,

The timing is for mistakes,

 The product of chance,

The seconds flee.

 

What is your strategy?

A diplomatic flight,

A dance,

The “something” is in your hands,

Your exit following me,

Wraps around my ribs,

Squeeze me.

 

Please!

Place my callouses in yours,

Trace me.

 

I’ve held every inch of you there,

Sitting at the bar,

Silent hands and feet and eyes,

The people conceal me,

Their language is competing.

 

The heat,

 Your voice is behind me,

A declaration

The moon is dead tonight.

 

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