Beneath Notice

Men and women, barely.
Flowering in the soil of their youth.
They are beautiful and they are unseen.
The garden is watered by tears.
But entwined around each other
they surrender all their fears.

They torture their bodies in a well-meaning way.
Neglect and pleasure is the path that they walk.
They have such an awful lot to say -
but they say it quietly.
And in the weak and wavering light of day
they take stock of themselves and one another.

They whisper to one another
sweet nothings, usually.
Occasionally something of vast import
that goes unnoticed by the roiling world.
They keep one another safe
in the places they claim.
They tell simple stories
and they play complex games.

A handful of sand is clutched in a fist.
The world does not tremble at their step.