when you speak
each word is a
yellow hair in
the middle of
a two-way road

sometimes when
you open your
mouth all that
emerges are

i watch the nervous
clock and tick away
seconds until i can
listen to you worry
in my arms again

minutes pass and
you are in a dark
copse of bedsheets;
we turn fox-quick & i
fall asleep around you

under my thrumming
oldheaded pulse love
you yield new missing
and a touch i can
only dream to feel