Its the way our words are whispers,
How I can vaguely make out the contours of your face,
Where the silence says everything and nothing,
The hum of the fan and the wrinkling of sheets,
And theres a steady stream of moonlight.
I hear the sound of your smile,
How our foreheads press together,
And it is in this.
That everything so silent is shared,
Cloaked in darkness and kissed by the night.
Much Love, Miranda