we talked for an hour over chicken alfredo
and my fork kept clinking ringing crashing
against the edge of my bowl
like every time i tried to speak my hand
(knowing it could or should not strangle me silent)
would drown me out with metal

my night was sleepless on purpose
my eyes and throat begging
to shut in shame and respite but
i forced myself awake with every sip
(red bulls and cheap whiskey and stale banana bread)
i swallowed into grimaces
i swallowed into laughter

and my soles ached and argued
against the not-quite salted sidewalks
and the decaying skeletons of autumn
against the freezing arterial
and they all knew i could never catch up
as i ran behind shouting to wait
just a second let me reach–

for what?

for who?

the words i wasted don’t exist anymore.
now i talk over myself and my lover
and the words don’t matter;
they flow between us,
herbal tea with cream and sugar
flows between us like
sunlight pouring in through the blushing leaves
the sunset trees
that only we and the woodpeckers can touch