We both put down
The work which was important
And without stirring from where we sat
We both began to think of you;
I — of why you left
And he — of what you’d now do.
The keyboard makes his idle palms to sweat.
The suspended document on the screen couch blink
Where the cursor is kept; and by the
Ridge of the sink, a cup of wrongly made tea
In eerie forgotten wilderness, slept.
Your friend told me last night that
Of me you didn’t wanna speak. That with an
Air of disinterest I was tossed off the hook.
To miss you, Fatal Siren, I am perhaps weak.
Cross out the number of hard ons in a rigidly kept book.
He types a sentence and deletes eight words
In a bid to keep the story moving.
I meditate on your life-changing beauty which
Only I — none else — will see. Every thing in you
Is a complete poem to him. An incomplete desire for me.