I am a clumsy writer
who sings with no
an eyelash could move and I
desperate for you
store every word in a corner –
hoarding semi sweet utterances
thrown at me with minimal care.
I count the seconds on my fingers
an artificial fill in for human companionship.
I begin to crave. To hallucinate. To dream.
Where hopes and anxieties cooperate with my manipulative mind
I live there until the sun fills the room
and return when it retreats