Your lips lie stagnant,
you don't dare break
the straight line formed
where they touch in the middle,
not to say a word,
not to take a breath,
and especially not to smile.
Your eyes are fixed on the ceiling,
counting shadows and old scuff marks,
and my head is on you chest.
My ear presses into you,
forming to each concave exhale,
and listening to your heart,
and i can't help but wonder,
how your chest can speak so loudly,
and you can't even break
the straight line formed,
where your lips touch in the middle,
not to say a word,
not to take a breath,
and especially not to smile.