I am not who
you think I am?
Faceless—
I am to most
revealed only
to you
I fell from the sky—
crashed
in your backyard
We are still
two quiet souls
staring at blank canvases
painting with words
Stealthily
Finding each other
and ourselves
Our silence
and solitude
Are they penance
for this moment?
Or a quiet release—
away from prying eyes?
Do we still carry
the same essence from
our faceless era?
Essence—
mystical,
enclosing us