A Love Not Spoken.

I only hear bad talk about her.
Posters flaking off a billboard
becoming less coherent by the day;
but that is only half the story:



she phones me with her
                         thoughts,
   but never says a word.


Her thoughts echo through
                                      me
although no words are
                               spoken.


Pictures flicker on a screen
like
        distorted film clips.


Her smile in a darkened room
reveals our mutual sadness,


the hopes kept strictly under wraps
because they are too private.


My mind a dazzled retina
on which her thoughts are grafted.


All our mutual dreams and fear
in one        small             glance.



I have only heard bad talk about her,
but only I can read her news.



Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 11th. - October 8th. - 10th. 2016.
March 6th. 2017.

I was thinking of both telepathy and on line communications when writing this poem.