Silence Has An Evil Face

A flatulence of mind interpolates when
needless interruption adds but nothing
to a conversation – metal burp perhaps,
or worse, synaptic fart expressed in airy
words regressed to urges uncontained.

But silence has an evil face – the aching
wait from pregnant pause thru’ hesitate
adjudicates malignancy a speaker fears,
wrought in agony he’s failed a creature
need – attend, connect, communicate.

I watch your eyes to gain the secret in a
blind testimony of apathy; beseech that
yours meet mine just once at least before
the last echoes of words recede into an
unfathomable deep of parapsychology.

With great relief I see a miniscule twitch
in the dimmest-cornered reflection of a
curve of your lips; beguiling embroidery
is not lost to me – there is a surfeit of
comfort in knowing you have smiled...
© 9 November 2007, I. D. Carswell