i whispered a million
things silver bells can't say, not
with their tintinnabulation of
cracked dreams turned grey by the moon.
and you picked up only the
muffled rings of my hands as
they waved their way across your
shoulders, bony peaks that crest my
wrists when i put them on your neck.
you don't bother with silver bells,
you shoved them in the dusty
shelves, hid them in the attic of
a pretty home and turned off the lights
so all we see are dancing night figures
making their way through loophole
wreaths and darkling furniture.
and this is where we begin,
startled flashes in empty windows
when the gangs aren't looking,
lest we have bullets in our heads and
iron in our souls and
leaden hearts that
won't let us swim.