Silences/your hair touching my shoulder/

Your black-alley eyes sealed by sleep.

Silences/a crowd of ghosts celebrating/

Your bitter breath seasons my love.

Silences/your hand resting on my thigh/

Your life anchors me firmly here.

Silences/dreams forgetting my donated time/

Your breasts cushion my imagined fear.

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Copyright 1998 by Philip Hyams. Send comments to