Unspoken Words

breathe moving through the room, as you listen to 3 am darkness.

fingers moving those holy places only two people know so well.

body touching body over the course of a thousand feverish nights.

feet and hands becoming alive as they curl, twirl, and shudder.

beating hearts telling all of those secrets hidden from plain sight.

feeling conflicting emotions as we lay unspoken words to rest.

Death in the Snow

In the snow.

The seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.

You’ve been down this road before; broken and broke.

There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now; free on this bench in the snow.

You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I was more familiar with words I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this. This is a photograph or a painting…”

Still, in the snow, you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.

Your last moments: broke and broken; beautiful and sad; thinking of the falling snow.

What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow full of a fading glow. Until the light turns to darkness. Then you get the chance to do it all differently.