unspoken

It does not need to be said.

It builds up in the air between us

while we lie there unmoving;

it is thick and garish

custard with ants in it

ants barely alive

yet still in continuous and intricate motion.

It trickles down my neck a little

while my ear is tightly fastened to the phone;

and when I move it so forcefully

3 1/2 cups of brown rice fall on the carpet.

It does not need to be said.

The words we say are so often putrid 

yet, the light always shines brightest

through the bathroom window.