Not saying
What you do not say
has stepped out.
It stands beside you in the room,
assumes your height,
drinks from the same glass.
What you do not say
looks you in the eye
and shakes its head: it knows.
It has slept with you
for years, and not slept.
What you do not say
whispers,
touches your shoulder,
lays its wrist against your own.
Feel its pulse.
Tomorrow is what you say: tomorrow.
What you do not say turns away,
smiling because it knows.
What you do not say insists, says:
Never, or: now.