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.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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