there's an avid tone to his voice
that matches my own so well
our sentences mend and meld
he unravels my thoughts like rope
then knots them into new patterns
I peel away his words and phrases
And rearrange them into a meaning
I usually get it right, and if not
then that is what laughter is for
anger never sounds as pleasing
I think his scars are magnetic
my fingertips can't leave them alone
has he planned this all out in advance?
I hope not, as the future never comes
and the now feels warmer than home



6 old applause
