SHOWCASE SUNDAY

Things That Can Only Be Whispered

Like names of past lovers
when the lights are out,
when your arms and legs
are wound together in loose knots
and he says tell me.

Like memories of the dead,
especially the ones
that crash into your consciousness
like waves upon a rocky shore,
until even the air you breathe
tastes like salt.

Like accidental confessions
crawling past careless lips
or even intentional ones
coming in a dry rush
that want only to drift
like snow, to find the ground
and erase every detail
yet can’t and don’t.

Like the words
for all the ways
you’d like to love his body,
new words that haven’t
been thought of yet,
syllables you find behind his ear
and in the folds of his kiss
just before he turns to go.

- Irene Latham

"Change the name and it's about you, that story."

- Horace