Of Silences

There is a silence that is harsh
and cold with condemnation
but on a softer night, a hush,
of slow-yearning sensation
threatens to dispel the sigh
of longing or defeat
across a moonless midnight I
can feel a murmur sweep
in urgent whispers on my skin
until it pauses where
the tender ache of you begins
like sparks upon the air

it warms me on the coldest night
and thrusts aside my woe
a calm and sensuous delight
an iridescent glow
melting on my lips and tongue
yet moaning in my ear
ah, now I am forever young
within this atmosphere
intangible, the fervent touch
yet in it I am taken
trembling as its fingers brush
me softly, lest I waken

J~