Just shy of fucked,
A cracking sound of
Accompanies a grey line moving
Across a screen.
This will be the first I know of you, reciting slowly.
I will close my eyes to find you resemble
One whose body
Was so close to mine,
On a nigh(more)t when window opened and wasp flew in
And Letterman announced over our heavy breath
And I was so full of (him/you) for one last moment
Before we slept one last time
And in the morning pencil marked my wall
(a note of regard)
The voice, like that man
Brings me in and I find
What is a month but 30 odd days?
What is a note but a finite number of characters?
What is love but a phrase?
But without body!
With only a voice and the text:
This was our closet,
Objects upon bodies and books between thighs,
Words stacked on words,