a thousand
invisible lines
every time we
have to speak
don't fly out
of my fingers
"how...
are you?"
"are you...
eating"
Do you sleep?
Do you miss
anything about me?
all the words
that I can't slip
into your mental
pockets
no notes
with little
stars
stick figures
of cowboys
climbing door frames
I want to ask
about the ipod
I stashed under
the coffee table
but instead I
feel this leave
my lips
"yes,  Ok. It's
fine....
goodbye."
And just
like that I
backspace my
mind, delete
the syllables
and just try and
concentrate on
writing off
the way I'm
not supposed
to be feeling
about
you.