When my love speaks to yours

there is no sound
There are conversations — in the pauses, in glances, in the soft suddenness of my hands brushing against yours; in the knowing of lies against truths, in smiles that are not meant

All conversations as meaningful as a Rumi couplet

There is much that is said about the rain and the roads, about time and travels
A lot about things done and lists incomplete
And yet not enough; not enough said about waiting and cold sighs and suffering — Not enough about dreams and desires
And yet…and yet there is a give and take of a lot that’s difficult to measure

Unaccounted for smiles that have made the day easier
The warmth of hugs and tender glances taking away the ice off cold moments
But when asked, “did you talk?”
I stumble upon silences