There are no words.
When you lie in bed, your sheets gritty your pillow too damn flat the streetlamps
glowing orange in the loneliness that is midnight that is courage that is winter chill
that is outside.
It is raining.
There are no words.
When the walls are too bare dirty with stains and little bits peeled off into curious shapes,
enigmatic images, the only things worth visual attention.
I love walls. (actually, we have this love hate relationship you see)
There are no words.
No words for myself, or for you, or for us. My words dissipate
in the silence, in the thickness, in the sweet scent of skin, in the roar of City.
No hay palabras.
Ningun para amor, ni sin-amor. Ningun en ningunas lenguas.
There are no words for closeness no words for warm breath no words for tingling skin.
No words for ---
No words for how I feel.

--Tigergem