I meet you
each night
at the silent room,
where there is no sound, but
the pounding of your own heart.
No touch, but
the tantilization of your skin.
No smell, but the
subtle scent of your own arousal.
And no music, but waves
after waves of tortuous delight
hitting your vulnerable shore
until you scream your silent scream,
as you perish into quiet oblivion.