you are a pause
you are the second
before the air raid
an anticipation so loud it's deafening
you are the stillness, the static,
pins and needles between lightening
and thunder. 1. . . 2 . . . 3. . .
you are the heartbeat, last blink
separating bullet and flesh
crescent cuts bleed from empty hands
you are red lights. stop
knuckles white through a
raindropped windshield
you are elevators
early morning coffee stains
shifting eyes. look away.
you are the dead air
on a faraway radio station
bent antenna. turn the dial. silence
you are the needle
on that half broken phonograph
sidling arthritically away, back to sleep
you are the skip a beat
nervous lip bitten hesitation, envelope stamped
staring into the letter box. just let go
you are punctuation. . .
you are the hyphen
splitting words in two
leaving lonely nothings on different pages
you are 0:00
you are the force that
draws our eyes together
if only for an instant