Poezja

Your frozen words float
like flakes
falling from invisible lips.

Aimlessly I would
pick up the yearnings
trying to caress me.

Talking to me in
hushed tones, to give a
tang of silence and release.

The otherness, like a
silvery spider's web invites.
You wait at the edge, pondering―

To walk in or not. You
bite your tongue, cannot move.
There were suicides.

The cadavers talk.