To all the magnificent silences that have remained unheard.
Applying make-up to anger.
Those misunderstood whispers that were placed so carefully on the pillow.
We had almost figured out why we were together.
Perhaps death brings us face to face with icicles of frozen sweat.
Trying to impress with a mental three-cushion bank shot.
Playing with more uncertainty than we can consume.
Arguing, using defective ammunition.
Going to a doctor so you can find out how you are feeling.
A diet to rid ourselves of the unwanted weight of imperfection.
The generosity that silence provides.
Where are the antibiotics?