Saturday, 15 December 2012



I am at her lips and eyes with my eyes.
The talk has lapsed.
She is quiet and she and I cannot think
Of words to say or sounds to make
So her hair and eyes I silent take.
But there is a certain guilt
In the small price to pay
How can lovers love with nothing to say?
We are too quiet on the bed
With two minds each in a too empty head.
Can it be correct to lack in speech?
To only pause,
Then reach?

St-Lambert, circa 1983.

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