678. Untitled

[hes]

It's the ebb and
flow of the reading -
creating a scene
made only of words.

It's a cascading
river of sound
tumbling across
uneven ground.

As the breaths slow
and the pages turn,
the pictures
are painted
in the emptiness.

Each sensation
replayed itself
as an echo
in the air -
pulsing like a
ghostly image -
stealing the moment
forever in the memory.

The saltiness
melted against
the tentative touches,
fading into the past.

A litany of words
are left unspoken
and unheard
in the silence
that fills the air.