Ouroboros

On the silence`s towering waves
the jagged edges of our words
are scattered across the cool ivory
of bed-squared sheets.

Then more silence.These small
variations of no-one speaking
hang like rhetorical questions
in the room`s astounding whiteness.

Through the window, you watch
a pattern of clouds drift across the moon,
as a glass needle whirs contentedly.
And I am empty as a broken promise
in this abacus of days.

Now,
as I wait in the clinging drizzle
of a June 4am
still nursing a small belief
which defies logic,
I think of love and death
and watch the stars go out ,
with the faint taste of
salt on my lips.