Shhh - Michael T. Smith

In me, you – the memory

Not even Lethe can efface

Those dulcet lays of yours 

Have converted me

 – into what?  Not even I know,

But I say it all in petto,

With my lips brushing your ear

In a reverie of endorphins.

I say it all in a lisp of wetness, 

My words a hansel 

With a glean of tomorrow,

Skylarking to your ear

On short feet, 

Treading oh so delicately.

So nobody else can hear,

I remember saying these things 

Y o u – a singularity

of history that Clio has

not yet even finished, 

whose antelucan eyes

repeat ourselves

like a duvet of a book,

who’s binding explodes

with billets-doux imagined. 

Originally published by Pif Magazine, Issue 255, August 2018

Michael T. Smith is an Associate Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published roughly 300 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 100 different journals.