Trapdoor

Trapdoor of things half-said
in whispered non-disclosure

Your thoughts
I count on timid fingers

One
A stranded boat
Two
halves of your face between brightly pinked nipples
Three is a blueprint of perfect humility
Four
swarming of your hands asking for lips
Five
you think to step aside

That’s on one hand

Your mute presence filling silence
Breathing through my pauses
guiding this
yearning to the hidden course
of words to words to come