Threads

Whistle while you work
or we'll both hang in the silence.
Spun gossamer threads
of what we should've said
will weave a rope thick enough
to tie us, bind us, kill us,
once and for all.

Whisper all your words
or I might just get their meanings
instead of tripping over hints you drop
because you can no longer handle
the the pain that's in my eyes.
Take it like a man, now,
one of us has to.

Kiss me with your eyes closed,
those daggers pierce the flesh, you know,
and such gashes rarely heal.
Your words and looks will flay me
to the ends of life and love,
and gossamer strands are tough enough
to bind you to me, now,
but not to close these wounds