February 17, 2005

This Silence

This silence
drips from our lips
like wax from a forgotten candle
left to burn - dangerously - alone,

pooling somewhere below
our line of sight.

At first, it is warm and soft -
I absently knead it with my fingers
until it cools and hardens
and turns to dirt.
This silence
swallows up all the words
we ever said to one another.

This silence
is our final conversation.

Summer 2004.

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