Sometimes there's a fearful quality to silence.
Nothing awkward, really-
a longing, perhaps, to draw closer;
to touch and hold and be less alone.
We are magnets, close but not close enough.
If I move toward you
(take your hand,
kiss your lips,
tell you what I fear so much that thinking of it feels like dying,
ask you what you love enough to live for)
will we come together with a snap?
(be as much one as two can be
reach through every glass and paper wall)
Or will I find what I brought
invisible, insurmountable repulsion)
and have to know full certain
the limits of our love?