Conversation

When we sit together here

I think about the distance

that is held within these few inches.

How so short a distance

can seem so impassable.

Why do we never fully say the words

we mean to say?

We try to catch them in our throats

and the tails come out as whispers;

ghosts of what they were meant to be.

Except for the daggers.

They come out whole and angry.

I am covered in cuts and lashes,

but I still do not know what you mean

or if you meant it.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s