In the wee wee hours,
When all I contain is my
silence,
When all we hear is a storm of hushed breaths,
When I
fumble for words and end up more silent than
silence.
I ask you to read me.
Skin to skin.
When I have nothing more to offer than the tips of my fingers.
I ask you to enclose me in the depth of your palms.
When I marvel at the meaninglessness of words,
While once I had worshiped every alphabet.
All I ask of you is to carry me from the silence of words,
Into the world where the silence of my eyes lets you know that I’d take the longest route to your soul.
For I want to be battered and trodden when I reach you.
So I experience life blown into me every time you touch me.