Your silence is the summons commanding me to the defendant’s table,
Where I sit beside your lingering shadow
And put my tongue on trial.
I beseech your blind, impartial eyes
To weigh my words and declare,
What is it I said that made you leave?
(Was it because I laid my soul bare?)
The attorney sifts through our filtered polaroids.
He examines the fangs behind your grin,
And the claws behind your caresses.
Hands are wrung, words are chewed.
The strands of time are combed again,
The knots harshly yanked.
Then the gavel is struck:
I hear the verdict from your unmoving lips,
Those words of censure from your closed mouth
Which echo louder than your declarations of love;
It is a dangerous thing when love and justice are both blind.
Photo by Sora Shimazaki from Pexels
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