Engulf the quiet,
of the whispering white noise,
of drizzle raindrops on tin,
of the non-sound of your breath.
I'll eat it up.
I'll devour the silence of the night,
gnaw at the corners of dead-language books,
tear bites from hushed landscapes in frames.
Incisors of pointed pearl will rip out
the still unused voice-box of the dark,
and molars shaded in the back of my mouth
will grind at the unthinking hum of nothing in particular.
I'll swallow up the noiselessness and hope to God,
that there's something dozing beneath it all.
Loud, vivacious and beautifully filling.