Words are easier when they fall out with comfort of padded landing.
Searching eyes rove away from the loudness of troubles.
Love grows with purpose of hiding behind the front.
Fear underscores scope of what will come to be when accumulation floods scepters of flames.
When the doors creak open, wait until the airway challenges wagging tongues that flutter with threats.
Sunlight only stings when visions are accustomed to brightness of dark, in the stark holes where webs of stalling are jammed.
Words are easier when beats pick up speed under covers that leave the unwritten without covering.
Like the faucet that stays dry, until backs turn to permit the drip drop that lands with thuds.
Like the switches performing in unison for the ghosts with journals that explode into dust.
Like gases of smoke, silently caressing the air that surrenders to the lips that move without utterance.
We know the speechless have so much to say, as eyes light up in recognition.
We know why her smile dangles with practiced caveat.
We know.
We don’t have to say it.
But we should.
