through filaments
poison-tips of hair
- and there
between your words
and your smile -
nearly caught
but never quite close enough
is the true meaning
of what was.
Transmitted along
the wires that carry
your hot blood
to your hot fingers
and your cold feet,
is a message
what you and I
never have the words for
as we press close together,
never close enough
though so hard it’s painful.
the data carried
by each strain of each muscle
the morse code pulse
of each swollen vein
the sweet distress call
that leaves me hanging
The foreign-language laughter
of a heart in pain.
March ‘08
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