if I have learned anything it is
the savoir faire of silence – not
that I can’t say the right thing
but an innocent, all-over-in-an
instant keeping-the-peace guile
of a stilled-tongue wins. So let me
lick your lips – pierce that inner
sanctum you are guarded about
it is not an answer I know but
the drawn out groans of pleasure
suggest nerves much in need;
there is unwell denial where a
clear conscience prevaricates
awaits an anxious requital
© 8 January 2010, I. D. Carswell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem