The silence
(in its intensity)
ruptures my eardrums.

Geckos bark at each other from behind picture frames.
Epauletted fruit bats squeak as they dip and dive between house and tree.
A Death’s head hawkmoth slams its body with furore
back-and-forth from wall-to-wall seeking, yet not finding, escape.
An elderly fat Ginger cat, curled up on the new sofa, revs his motor in fourth gear.
The silver wall clock in the kitchen dutifully imitates a metronome, plunking time like a dripping tap.
A big-shouldered fridge groans as it replicates the Arctic North.

Silence reverberates,
overpowering the clamouring undercurrent,
sucking up the report of my own heartbeat.

My ears ache
for the sound of your voice.

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