The Gap

I am an akward talker Especially when I cannot see the eyes Behind the bush Of so much distance Liquid like a sea Or the voice halts Hesitant Too tired to run from me Too bored to stay Go flat And wait pregnantly To hear my tongue Trip my feet And tumble me So you going silent Or cross talking To some unknown subject I cannot see You lettering my prognosis Without A consultation fee Signals my silence To shrivel me away Until the rain That will understand How things are grown And how they die Without drought in me. Still I long to hear your voice On the phone, But better face to face.