This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

silence is the patience of
not knowing how to
want less

to break through the plaster
of my skin and rip
long seams in the folds of
newspaper smiles

my ears perk in the heat of 
a new word
a phrase to turn
lore, as an adjective
onomatopoeia, as a feeling 
using your senses in topsy-turvy sentences to
paint the emotions of your soul

to see words in color
and crave the salty leftovers they leave
on your fingers 
from the snack
of giving in

your paper the napkin
that soaks up 
your conversation

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