word thief

when the air 

catches handfuls of my breath

and puts it in his pocket,

telling me he'll keep

it safe.

when he breathes in

a thousand words

still moist on red lips;

unheard

and now swallowed.

when my words stop

and i wait for myself

to say something,

but my mouth is dry

and my words

stolen.

that is silence,

like a thief

it travels

and through the room

brushes our shoulders

running 

with our words in a sack on his back.