SILENCE
Whispers in breathless air
To a yearning ear
A heart that breathes its own pity
Beating not for itself
But for another
Who knows not its loneliness
Nor sees its loveliness
Hope is in the beating itself
That emanates the very life
Which drives it onward
Offering soft messages to its beloved
Yearning for them to be captured,
Enjoyed, understood, caressed, savored
Matrixed, enmeshed as a vine and lattice
That is who I am
No more
No less
But all that
For you.
Poe et here 
Oh, how I love your pen! Everything your write is beautiful and tender. Someone is pretty enmeshed in your heart, I believe. Such is the heart…its an open door for someone to walk in, plant themselves and lock the door behind them. Most times it is futile to waste time trying to kick them out. Love can be an emeshed occupant, indeed!
Good to see you writing again, Mr Kul. 🙂
Hi bubbles!! Back again! I enjoy your comments!
J
Beautiful.