Sleaze

Are we that conversation?

The one in a cheap hotel room,

Simmering in cigarette smoke,

With bright neon lights

shining through the broken window panes,

And its dull hum silencing our quiet whispers, 

one at a time.

Hum with me to the sleazy tunes of the crackling radio,

Tracing my fingers with yours, writing words incomprehensible,

For in the flutter of your eyelashes against my shoulder, I found

Words, unspoken;

Sentences, unfinished;

Poetry, unwritten.