Rehearsed lines and
I love yous
Are all we speak lately.

Somehow silence seems loud,
when our stunted conversation leaves me
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for you to say something worthwhile.

I know you intimately,
Every line on your hand and thought in your head,
And I’m coming up empty.

There are those with whom I could talk forever,
About this and that
And not much
And nothing,

And then there’s you.

(You hold my attention so very little that I often wonder
Why I come back for more.)