(the blood that runs)

o, love -

this is the sound
between applause, when

dreams reach for
frigid blankets and

wake you up in your
own sweat, with no

breath inside or beside
you, just the smell of

perfume sleeping on
sheets. and you come

in like the dawn, with
the promise of spring's shadow

bursting through the
cracks in the floor. o,

love - will you kiss-clean
the memory of encores and

leave me deaf-blind and hungry
for the taste of this silence, the

taste of this silence.