holding pattern

 

I want to touch my face to yours,
hold your mouth with my mouth,
until your lips do not feel like lips anymore,
but the back of hands, fine hairs standing at attention.

I want to touch the inside of your skull,
delicately, feeling the canals like a blind woman,
dreaming in Braille.

here, where you cannot cover
the silence

she turns the volume down, then down again,
then watches the people speaking,
silently,

their faces blurring,
without words