It’s the silence -
So cold the bindings,
So warm the abrasions as it tightens,
Twists, strangles…
Each liquid drop filled with your essence,
Your phantom presence lingers,
A billowing cloud taunting -
You’re a plague without form
Luring me into the dark shroud of…this…
This nothingness,
Such an inept void.

It’s the silence, you see,
This silence to be worn like a mantle
          (or a noose)
Wrapped about me, warping the buds
As they attempt to push through to the light…
No, they’re trampled now,
The weight of the hole increasing,
Choking on the fragility of dusk,
Sinking into the barren earth
As I fell so quietly into you.

It’s the silence of your touch,
The haunting gris-gris of you,
These sullen tightening chains
My confinement -
My salvation…