Thumbs
anxiously poised
slightly above the qwerty
like little frustrated court stenographers
with other places they’d rather be.

Head
full with more memory than words
worlds away
dancing naturally
in the synchronized but broken
rhythm they used to call love
in a time before they took away its name
and comforting rules.

With broken glasses,
thumbs stumble
frameless
into awkward silence.

Nerves
trembling,
close the phone.