The Unsaid

If I could send you something today
it would be 500 white pages
For you
to place your own words onto

This morning as the sun yawned
stretched
Through my window
Across the bed
Your side
empty

I slipped from my cocoon
Eyes closed
to place my mouth on yours

Aware
that the husk left on the bed
in all its silken quiet
would never speak
as honestly of love

Read on that soft skin
in the light that plays around it

All

the unsaid
the unnameable
the unsayable

wordless poetry of my love