i could write a novel in your silence
a story of sharp colors, cut clean to the bone
with a saturated happy that drenched our lone souls

maybe a story of hope, slowly pricking down my back
jagging over and over at the last pieces intact

or sadly a story of hunger, craving each fulgent pattern
until love dissipated into our indulgent clatter

your silence is my slow death
i suffocate in each thought you left