Skip to content. | Skip to navigation


Personal tools
You are here: Home / Lit / Whisper


Her gentle whisper tickles
Like the scratch in a parched
Throat. It sits and gnaws,
Oblivious to hacking huffs.
She spoke to me in parable:
The message tangent and
Only between those lines of
Love I read the mulching and
Rotting of her tactile poetry

She writes to please, dropping
Woman-traps, like brittle calcium
Eggs, across the gleaming floor.
Easter eggs in camouflage crackle
Underfoot and I slip, fall,
And my head rings against
Chestnut parquet floors.

©1994 Chris Abraham