you could fill a room
with questions
but they don’t.
instead our house is
filled with silence
as i waste my time
playing video games,
watching television,
reading poetry,
feeling guilty
about not making art—
hoping to find my voice
the things i don’t tell
you haunt our nights
as we fall asleep
to the sound of our breathing,
the crumple of sheets
as we turn our bodies
over and over
sometimes facing each other
sometimes side by side
sometimes
quietly embraced.
