This Quiet

its the silence
simple,
the dove in fury
in fire
that this silence
rings an eternal sound,
of a universe breathing-

the curvature of spine
waist
&
collar,
where in fury
i lie my naked face
& bask in the warmth
of mortality- running fingers
running sounds
along the recesses and mouths
of lovers,

here in
the shallow pool
of afternoon light
my grimace becomes
worry, and patched
over and over
by work
of carpenter
i carry,
this feeling-

now with time
i callous
i callous

the only judge is me
& it says
everything.