She never said anything out loud,
the words seethed under covers.
She spoke with her eyes,
with her air her
fist mark left to be found in a pillow.
When there was something to be said
there was nothing she could say,
so she didn't speak in anger
as she didn't speak in joy
that first time I said, Love,
just smiled and turned
the flowers on the bedspread to a heart.