telling

If I press my ear against my arm I hear the metallic hum of white noise;
press it hard enough and it will buzz uninterrupted, the steady red
light of a cigarette that indicates she is watching you. I am here
to feel your eyes on me, the tingle in the center of your palm,

to tell you about the space between my words, of the space between us that becomes
so tempting to infuse with color, the red which runs beneath the bite of winter snow.

you drum the beat into your body because you cannot get enough. you love her
because your heart is not enough, because the stammer of your words will outdo
the finality of your hesitation and even the permanence of silence-

I am here,
I am here
I am here

to refrain from relative happiness- to feel the pleasure of thought running
through my mind; to develop a handwriting as cursive as my memory,
slanted as the sun. maybe I may be something other than what I say
at daybreak, what I will say breaking in the morning into day
like a pair of new shoes-  but now my thoughts are tangible
like the crisp weight of foreign bed sheets over skin.