These are the poems that aren't about us,
or about love, but tell stories that weave
upon skin like silk, and echo back the
whispers that are kept within

twelve times yesterday,
I called you. between coffee -
breaks and

gossip

you never answered

today, I leave messages
that make me sound like
a lost child, a shrill scream
that shakes down the
wires

did you receive
it?

did you feel the edges of my body
become the edges of your
own?

your eyes were always bright
and brilliant, blue in the way that
the ocean is

but isn't

tomorrow, it will stop
I'll take my shoes off and run
wild with the winds and roars

of a silent

sea