understanding
even your tacendas,
like deciphering
shadows that dance on
the edge of your eyes,
where words dare not dwell.

I listen
to the cadence of your quiet—
a language of pauses,
pregnant with echoes
only silence conceives.

there,
between breaths,
truths are buried,
deep,
delicate,
undisturbed,
waiting for the grace
of a glance
to unearth them.

I hold my tongue
so...