silence, in its wrathful, sedentary postures, envelops all the corners of my home.
curving through space and time, your anger finds me,
fuels me, joins with my guilt and sets the whole heart ablaze.
oh to be simple, oh to be free.
in the years where love was yearning, and affection, and sexual potency,
we were easier then: we are dying, now,
like filmstrips, each frame a treachery, each break an avalanche.
black and white and soundless, the mirrors reflecting hate,
silence here means that i miss you.
silence here means that i lack.