Brother
The soft creak of a bed
And the give of a mattress—
A time and place where the day learned to die
And we are left alone
Our sanctuary, our haven,
A ritual of quiet and caresses
To be breached only when night falls
Sounds, primal, fall from your lips
Not of any language of the earth
A crypt for words is where we lie
Yet I murmur still,
Knowing the futility of hoping
Yet wondering if you will be able to answer back
The night pushes the words away
And you tug me closer
A hand on my wrist for want of a hug
The clicking of tongue for want of sleep
Quiet, it is quiet
With the blankets above us
And the stars beside us
The moon glistens, watchful eye over dreaming children
Bringing peace not found in day
Seventeen years for me, eighteen for you
Bound by blood and chance
Silence beckons unpleasant thoughts
A rustle of blankets and I leave,
One last stroke of hair, a whisper unheard
To speak for the one who can not speak himself
A woman of words to speak for a man of none,
From you, a legacy is derived
For you, a future to be made