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Now we talk
slowly
rarely
if ever at all
about movies
about news
about nothing
at all
I stick to empty surface streets
and find
no
meaning in indirect windows
no substance in silent rooms
How I used to unwrap myself
in quiet, tender layers
unfolding, opening
a night bloom warmed
touched by moonlight
Now cool and tense
recounting
our daily bores
as though
the sum of our uses
equaled
something more
something substantial
while the softer things
continue to shrivel
and our roots
go unfed
choked
by all
you will not say
and all I will not ask
