You cover my mouth with your eyes.
I can’t talk about cherries or redcurrants —
I don’t have the right.
I can’t talk at all, there’s nothing to speak of.
Only I’ll cover your mouth,
there won’t be anyone left, me, you,
or the one we made between us,
the one who still believes enough in love
to keep coming back, thinking it’s like home.

Silence boils in my throat like the word ‘friend’
or even ‘touch’.
Cartilage, breast, thorax,
they’re not mine to speak of,
it’s not my place,
only when the steam has drifted away
they’re more revealed, more naked than ever,
sobbing — really — as if someone could hear them.

Thorax, cartilage, breast,
I’m going to put a cloth over them
the way you’d hood a bird of prey,
the way you kissed me,
and I called you my friend.