It's been seven months since I have last heard your voice,
your soft ticking; your pacing; the click of your mouse;
the way your mouth pressed
on the cigarette, pushing air out;
your descriptions of the moon: complementary and rotund;
the way your buttons popped off, ripped not undone;
the praise for your mother: a hardworking bitch;
the disdain for your father, doesn't matter which;
your sighs; your cries; how you suck in your cheeks;
it's been seven months and I have not heard a peep.
The noise I missed was when you left.
No ticks, no puffs, no descriptive monologues;
Yeah, you left like the sunshine in a
nuclear sky.