Hush

You are dangerous to my soul.

It’s your voice. I hear it and I blink, I stop, I think – I think, I need this, I need you in my life.
(But I can’t trust you, I can’t trust that voice, I can’t trust a word you say because I’m always aware of the words you don’t say.)

[hush]

It’s the sound you make when I slide my fingers down to the small of your back. It’s a catch in your throat, a self-satisfied sigh – it intoxicates me, that power my touch has over you.
(But I can’t trust it, I can’t trust you, because that’s a lure for me, and it overwhelms me, the power that you have over me.)

[hush]

You’re in my dreams, whispering to me, in my ear, making me toss and turn and twist in my blankets, weak and pathetic, yearning for a ghost, your ghost, because you aren’t who you said you were, you aren’t who you were to me anymore, you aren’t you, so you’re just a phantasm.

Your voice, your sounds, your body – all of it, a specter, a banshee, a hook that I have baited myself and slipped through my own lip, hooking me on something unreal, something a half-remembered memory, a fantasy – smoke and funhouse mirrors…

[hush]

Slip your fingers over my mouth; my tongue to your tips; close my eyes; silence my throat; still my heart.

[hush]