read to me
your voice, it
calms

I lose myself,
eyes microscopic
on a strand of
beige acrylic carpet

depth-of-field varies,
like puddles forming
on the balcony.
this fucking rain

can I get you anything?

stroke your shapes
through steely linens
your lips full
spent, and wondering
I perch my index finger
on mine, pursed.

shhh, baby
he probably loves you,
some people retract.

he’ll call
you’ll see.

I hum a soft tune,
dig my nails deeply
into my tense shoulder
stare off into the tears
crying in sheets
outside the window.

I remember all the words
in my sleep.
valedictorian
of this class

© Tom Watters 2/12/10