Without words, these eyes speak a story of their own. Where tales and poetry etch themselves in lines, I choose to speak without colourful images and embellished words. My unspoken language is expressed in the lowering of my eyelids, the gentle curling of my black lashes and the deepened chocolate brown. My poetry is the silence of thought, the glare that sinks so deep within another’s laughter that it covertly unveils the truths hidden so far within their own hearts. At times they cannot see themselves as clearly as I see them.

In eloquent motion, my body speaks for itself and my mind echoes into halls of mystery, unexplored and undiscovered. Where blossoming words and emotion wilt at the second my lips part, for my mind is a garden truly uncultivated and dangerously silent. Thick, Lush and wild of unheard sentiment creeping its way up the garden walls like ivy. Unaware of the world that drapes the body when eyes are closed their souls sleep in “peace”. The skies clouds move over one another to shelter the bedded beings from the sun. Making way for the glowing moon that parades its presence on the edge of dreams.

Without words I am someone I am not with the face of who I really am. The blackness of the eyes holds much or nothing. The sigh is of exhilaration or despair. Without words my love has the ability to be greater than any sonnet or play. For my passion acts out its own truths and battles its enemies that stand only to destruct such joy- and all without an utterance.

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