Would it be worthwhile to
hinge on the words of
a man who waits not on
my replies, but merely for
a break in my syllables, to
break me with his stare and
turn my thoughts into
something of a simple stutter?

I think not, but he is most
recusant in allowing me the
benediction of where my
lips take the proceedings of
this hushed moment.
I have been quieted, but
stillness has yet to
find his hands.

Originally published at Snapping Twig – August 2015