[this is how you sit across from someone at a table not looking at your phone and overcome the seemingly irresistible urge to talk]
how many times to hear their words frantic to fill supposed silence between us?
what if, supposed silence real. what if.
yes, skin crawls. yes, breath catches in chest or throat then what?
birdsong. crisp of snow. the others who talk. what did this or that mean.
what’s it mean between us silence. silence is not real. it’s all pleasure (is the hope), the thud of heart, the way blood goes.
to live the shape of it, not say the words of something else to stress less.
i hear thoughts. seek to hear, instead, a clatter of leaves, a far baby’s wail,
all signs true of teeming.
what if, so perfectly safe in sinew, in body; no need for glowscreens, too rapid stories. why to force a quickening. it is fast enough as is, teeth. clench of mouth, tense of neck. the clogged warmth of inflammation, but also all of the good stuff. just to drink water, bless. hear water. waves. see friends. see sobriety on white walls, purply pulsing squids ~