
Listen to my silence
dripping through the air like so many scattered sundrops,
the viscosity of quiet shrouding my thoughts,
swallowing my words,
the chill of your previous silence
tormenting me with abandoned grief
for my greatest loss
while I hope against hope—
praying this isn’t that for you,
keeping my distance
from crowding your space,
wishing my love to dance gently over your spirit,
like sunbeams glancing and scattering over a river,
the light just whispering across the surface, not touching the depths,
reminding your darkness
to come to the surface
and embrace my shadow.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.
MA English literature, College of Charleston


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