Counterpoint

Shush, she says, with slip of tongue and trip of sighs,

Puffed through pursed lips, come high, to bate with this,

Every silence has music, and this is mine

As maddening space, now grows apace like

Kisses rained upon the face in manic tryst,

Shush, she says, with slip of tongue and trip of sighs,

Too much, too soon to speak of, too moved am I,

Hearing inferred words under breath amiss,

Every silence has music, and this is mine.

In contortion’s convoluted thrall divine,

Nude in assonance so asinine we twist,

Shush, she says, with slip of tongue and trip of sighs,

All words must leave you now her breathy lullaby

Nothingness is where we reside, in bliss

Every silence has music, and this is mine,

Made crazed crescendo tantric tied,

Unified passions leave our meanings stripped,

Shush, she says, with slip of tongue and trip of sighs,

Every silence has music, and this is mine

Rick Dove (c) 2015