It’s six o’clock and I’m tired of the way you make me feel, old and hungry and sad. A useless combination. I cleared off my desk today. I like to pretend that it will help me work. If I have a space, dedicated, committed. I like to use synonyms, back to back. Because life is all about nuances. Slight differences changing one thing from another. A truck stops on the side of the street. To let pedestrians pass. It’s snowing out. They walk, arm in arm. Linked. Should they fall, their fates are likely intertwined. Unless they’re lucky or strong. Folks don’t seem to be both anymore.
You told me goodnight in five different languages
Sleep clung to the edges of our eyes, and of our lips
As your voice scratched out the words
Hoarse from loving and laughing, at each other and with each other
I asked you to repeat it in Russian, your native tongue
I wanted to hear again
How your tongue formed the words,
Wanted to watch your lips push them out
I love to watch what your mouth can do.