Do I whisper
across your thoughts
like sheets,
pulled over lovers’ bodies?
Or is that too intimate?
And it’s more like
water from the faucet
rushing into yesterday’s cold coffee?
Or do I pad across your mind
like bare feet in an empty house?
Or to I creak as a ghostly reminder
of every door
you never opened for me?
Do I hit you like oncoming traffic,
crushing your thoughts like leaves underfoot?
Or am I sawing at your sanity
like a two-man saw to a redwood?
Or do I flatter myself,
thinking I grace your thoughts at all?