The Intrinsic We — a poem


“The joy that isn’t shared dies young.”


— Anne Sexton


Silence makes me gasp.
Not the quietude of two shared,
but the hollow of one…

and one.

When we must be apart,
life smolders; bears
little heat.

I must look away from you to lie,
or tell you in your eyes how I suffer
in the silence, the silence,
the awful echoless still —
one here.

One there.

* * *

For NaPoWriMo 2019, day 2.

For my beloved.

2 thoughts on “The Intrinsic We — a poem

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