|
| |
After the Last Word
I set out to write a love poem,
but you are the crack before thunder—
the silence stretched thin
before the sky shatters.
You are no angel,
but the pulse that makes time stop,
the breath held
in the moment before storm.
Your absence hums
like shadows in a silent room,
a presence
between heartbeats and lightning.
My lips do not write on your skin—
your body speaks in flashes,
each scar a flicker
in the dark rhythm of us.
When you laugh,
light folds over itself,
and the world forgets
how to hold its edges.
You are not a poem—
you are the silence after lightning,
the space where words wait,
breathing your name
before the next storm breaks.
Copyright ©
Saeed Koushan
|
|