the doorbell will never ring at 4am-
no surprise visits,
hesitant, awkward, longing smiles
and hesitant, awkward, longing body language
that sounds more like childish screaming
than pleasant conversation
had by adults who'd administer un-pondered scolding
just for the noise-
at least not anytime soon.
wrapped and delivered, waiting on the stoop,
a box beneath a bow and note scribbled
with little hearts and a name-
an offering responded with fangs and venom
by a snake, like the veins of the heart
that was supposed to grow fonder with absence
but instead grew wicked with the thought
that forcing seconds into minutes-
minutes to hours-
hours to days-
quickly caused us to wonder