Old Lovers.

Old Lovers.

There is beauty in silence

When it is shared.

A strange fascination

With words unspoken.

Looks exchanged with a smile,

Wrapped in the warmth

Of a gentle touch,

The brush of a finger

That lifts unruly hair

Away from a face.

Droplets of rain

Still glistening

On the stray strands.

The cup of a cheek

A speck of dust

Removed from an

Eyelash.

And just for a moment,

Without exchanging

A single word,

They both know.

As moments pass

From one to another,

There is a deepening,

An intertwining

Of thoughts.

A realignment of

Unconscious process

That draws them closer

Together.

A body of language

Shared by mutual agreement

With nobody else.

And in the subtle,

Barely visible

Stirring of their love

The world overlooks

The power

Of meaningful silence,

Losing itself

In the strident clash

And clamour

Of disharmony,

A background,

Wailing wall

That reverberates

In endless repetition.

Until all that is said

Is lost,

In a tuneless drone

Of white noise.