Fallacy

From the tip of my tongue,
exclaims a sordid silence,
that had lulled you
in your dreary slumber,
dying, unanswered by you,
in oblivion.
Moment after moment
the silence soars,
impregnated by desire-
an inhibited one-
as specks of dust gloated by
the rays of Sun.
A desire that knows not to speak
thus, spits out a requiem
which fills up the chasm
of silence between us;
but lulls you further, with its chanting,
like trance induced while recounting
the tale of Abbakka.
And, as irony extends itself,
this hardly makes me
wince, anymore.