No Writing

There have been no words, no words, no sounds
For long enough.  You see, I feel as if I don't 
Need to do it now, for you're lodged where I
Need no explanation of it, no externalisation of
The internal tattoo you have stamped in me.
The mark goes deep, despite our differences,
And cannot be cut free, need not be excised, and I 
Need no writing to articulate its presence beneath
My surfacelife.  I feel the buried thing burning
As I walk, talk, sleep, and I like to nurse you there
With silence.

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