King Panic

With so many questions lacking answers & too many others lacking comfort, as days slip past us faster & faster:

once again King Panic* wins.

Thin layer of foil beneath the skin**, & as if in a dream wind contributes to the scene:

the rain hard & wild against the window, & the Sun fleeing the grey sky as tired eyes shrink from the fading light.

Sullen shudders of self-awareness & the contemplation of desperate measures.

Sensing this, the tachhyonic voltage between us prompts you to ask:

“What’s wrong?” & though I fail to convey it to you through speech, language is not all that we need for us both to believe that the other understands:

the calm of your hand against my neck slowly returns me, & the questions no longer matter:

without an answer there can be no question to begin with.