Loose Lips

“What’s wrong?” you ask with pale concern. You swirl

The contents of your cup. “Nothing,” I say.

You look at me, not buying it, brow furled,

“What? Are you mad at me?” I turn away,

***

“No,” but then, “Well, I’m trying not to be.”

And I am trying, just not succeeding.

You twirl a strand of hair and sip slowly,

you don’t speak; the silence does the asking,

***

But I say nothing. I mean, how can I?

Admitting that I expected those words

from anyone but you, my mouth goes dry.

Anyone else and they wouldn’t have mattered.

***

They marched out between your ivory teeth though,

so in the green tint of fluorescent light,

the cracks widen, I let the quiet grow,

letting it pull the ship down, out of sight.