He tells me of my beauty
tenderness in his eyes
secrets he tries
to disguise
not hidden well.
He gazes at me
...so gently...
that it's not so hard
to tell
yet neither
are ready
and so
The words are still...

Unspoken.

He speaks to me
of beautiful things
and promises
and ghostly thoughts
Speaking on futures
not foreseen
nor foretold
leaving me
guessing...
wondering...
questioning...
What I need to hear
is not there...
yet...
The words can remain...

Unspoken.

I see it there everyday
in the stillness of thought
and the gentleness
of a gaze
I feel it in the breath
between seconds
and the reverence
of a touch
I hear it on the silence
between each beat
of the clock
and the tickle
of a whisper
against my ear
I taste it in the colors
of the morning
and the musk
of his kiss
And the words are left...

Unspoken...

Heard.

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