I can read your face without words,
the muscular sculpting is subtle as it so concurs.
Your face, in composition unity as it compellingly reveals.
The shaping of your eye lids becoming megaphones,
silently voicing from beyond the story of itself.
The depth, forthcoming from the back of your eyes
as themselves, verifies to me your bottomless truth.
My theater of glance absorbs this in its entirety
as the immediate past, the voluminous present
and the expectant future all reach out
as a moving composition.
In your face-forwarding, all three merge yet without a word,
although those lips through their minor partedness
and undulating contortions never allowed
for an utterance to pass as being spoken.
Please say something softer so that I can relax into us
as a shared understanding.
Then may we, silently converse,
my face for yours and yours for mine.
This dialogue into muted agreement
and surrender to more than we agree to agree,
sharing the same sympatico in glimpse harmony
though tacit as it shall remain . . .
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