the phone turns yellowy orange, low power mode, have fallen below the 10% threshold, we both drowsy, yet competitively locked-into separate screen servitude
she notices, I don't, she says, "you need a charge"
god, she's so correct, our mutualizing power is fastly slow draining
this we both know~notice, and neither says nada~nothing
we, both poets in our way, acutely aware of the power of metaphor, and she knows that I know, I noticed what just went unspoken*