There are no shapes that can be formed by my lips  
No position that I can place my tongue in  
And nothing I can make my throat do  
To express what begs to be heard.  
There are no brushstrokes,  
No lines and no dots that can convey  
What is brimming inside me.  
Even the loudest sound  
Echoing off the bouncing of a string  
Or from air colliding through a brass chamber  
Would fail to touch what I wish to utter.  
No vibration  
No frequency  
No wavelength nor amplitude  
Could even come close to the  
silence that emits from the apertures of my face,  
a silence so total  
and a heart so raw  
Even the strongest attraction  
At the most microscopic level  
Would crumble before  
  
*this.