Loud Silence

I love a loud silence.

The kind that follows a furious fight.

Adrenaline calling for breath.

One that’s warm. And moist. And soft.

But heady still and hot and wet and

Furry awkwardness on your tongue.

Empty lungs and raw throats.

Wilted fists.

Only tense eyes left,

Unyielding dismay

On both silences.

Lucie De Roeck

Translated by David Colmer