We Shall Runs Silently

On the next wisp of a fall moon we shall runs
with eyes wide and mouths agape,
starving for any form of attention that would
leave some frosty imprint of love embossed
on our souls, something accidentally left behind; like a
childhood scar, something you only mention while
immersed in warm intimate moments,
told with a half forced laugh that is begging for
reassurance, banking on the hope that
older lovers understand such things,

soon we shall runs to avoid the weight of winter that such
emotional drifts often usher in with them, and we
shall relaxs’ knowing the next fall wind will be
sweeping up leaves soon enough, relaxs’ as
nature and time brush aside the rusting memories
that are clogging our cortex drains,

and when the first shake of snow descends carelessly
from ominous clouds we shall hides
with bodies wrung tight, remaining perfectly
silent the way old people do as they watch
television while enduring hazy reruns of
their former lives, we shall be silent as
mist rising across Old Sullivan’s fields,
silent as that, or silent’er.