he doesn't use words
they stall behind his cigarettes
no one wants to hear what he has to say anyway
he doesn't use hands
they stay close to his sides
from too many times reaching out and they turning their backs to him
but he has music
he sends me
to tell me things
like that he's broken
like he can't trust me
like that he loves me
and i hear and i listen and i know and i'm patient and i'm game
because i can use words
because i can use hands
because i can use music
to tell him i love him too
5.5.2021
YOU ARE READING
from the wreckage of obsolescence
Romancelove, sex and vulnerability. chapter three of an ongoing collection of poetry by a bisexual woman.
