Silence, she is a velvet drape, cool against fevered skin, A hush that tastes of unsweetened nectar, a breath held within. She sounds like the ghost of a hummingbird's wings, a vibration unfelt, A feather-light pressure on closed eyelids, secrets the moonlight has dealt. She smells of petrichor after a dream, a promise whispered low, A depth you can fall into and never touch bottom, a place only women know.