Here...a little pool
of words left unsaid
drying up
in the merciless sun
beating down upon
Stratford-upon-Avon.
There...a half un-
-finished sentence
left to wither & die
amongst beerstains, stubbed out buts
a dead fly & a few scattered cashew nuts.
There again
a dying longing
lingering on like a melting
Dali
clock over the back
of a garden chair.
Words trying to trek across
the vast desert stretches
between us
only a shy silence
that realises we
have to be together
but not
the how of it.
Suddenly you say:
'The only way
I am going to spend
the night here
is if I spend it
...with you! '
And suddenly
like a great geological
shift
there is no need
...for words.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/need-to-know-3/
