this grief of love is quiet...

it does not hit me in the face
to face the ground with a rumbling gasp

it comes tenderly
through the gentle weave of my days
sowing the cold nights in a blanket that holds me tightly

bubbling in the kettle of my heart
percolating through the pores of every shadow that I cannot touch

behind the whispering breeze and gentle sun ray
it pours its burning liquid
sweetly
into every sensation

until
in the start of a passing day
my quiet tears bleed

I stand there
stark
with only one question...

"Why?"

and with every utterance
in this hollow expanse of skull

resounds again
my mo(u)rning heart