There is a thought on my tongue.
Wonder what it would’ve done
had it cloaked itself in words
but I remain clammed up
and let my silence burn
her stately veneer’s hem.
But many moments later
this moment will unfurl upon her.
Poised on the Metro escalator,
with the sweat breaking over her brow,
she would not know what hit her
or on her tongue tastes bitter.
© Dan Husain
May 27, 2006
