The shape of silence
Drawn by
A single inhale
Its etching lines
Embolden or
Cuts us down
In mere seconds
We cannot know
What form it takes
Invisible to
Ear, eye
Until whatever
Outcome follows
Dying before it’s
Even defined
A priceless
Invisible cloak
For the king
Or just bare
Ass naked
On a horse
That space where
Mind decides, before
Truth is known
Like dancing
In the arms of
A new partner
Held in a strange frame
Catching rhythms
To keep up with
An unfamiliar stride
Struggling to recall
Half forgotten steps
But still swaying, a
Familiar melody
Nonetheless
Why on earth
Must we feel
Before
We know
What will be spoken
What is that saying…
An ass of you and me
My cheeks still burn
Decades later
Knowing I
Assumed incorrectly
But of the two of us
He certainly
Was the ass
.
.
.
.
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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