the phone turns yellowy orange,
low power mode,
have fallen below
the 10% threshold,
we both drowsy,
yet competitively locked-into
separate screen servitude
she notices,
I don't,
she says,
"you need a charge"
god, she's so correct,
our mutualizing power is
fastly slow draining
this we both
know~notice,
and neither
says nada~nothing
we,
both poets in our way,
acutely aware
of the power of metaphor,
and she knows
that I know,
I noticed
what just went unspoken*
>an untitled poem<
