It was Monday, or Sunday maybe,
one of the yellow days.
I was talking to You and I heard it:
The sound of two hearts, colliding,
and then...
sliding onward.
We had missed each other again.

Do deaf people fall in love through caresses?
Yours travel miles over the phone.

I would tell you how I feel
But my words would hardly be
The first or the billionth
       Cry of pain or tired sigh -
The room is not quiet, the world is not silent.

I would tell you what I think
But my opinion wouldn't be
The first or the millionth
      Vicious agrumentation or complaint -
My voice isn't the only, its sound isn't the loudest.

I would say something...
But you know how much I hate repeating something someone else has already said...
Am I desperate, brokenhearted, hurt, angry, betrayed?
Or am I
(

                 )?
I guess you'll never know.

Everyone in the room
Must have been deaf and blind
To miss
   That quiet flutter –
        Of three thousand bees listening to jazz –
   That subtle shimmer –
       Of two hundred golden sparks, shooting out of a dying fire and ON FIRE themselves –
   That combustion in my heart –
      Which made all those New Years and Fourth-of-July's seem like practice runs.

They probably thought I was dancing to the music –  
       What music? –
I was listening to your breath
And dancing to your touch –
       As if my skin receptors were piano keys and with each touch your fingers came up with another
        note
But then the music stopped –
        I knew the song –
The fire died –
        I felt so cold –
It was the 1st of January or the 5th of July or September  or tomorrow –
        *I don’t remember.