her voice is on
a different frequency
and I can't see her face over the bar
as I tap my feet restlessly

purposelessly
furiously
these echoes etching through my blood
	this desire is not
	a conscious wish

does this bear semblance
to new infatuation
disheveled misdemeanor
panic assassination

or nothing more
than summer's quip
let self-interest sink
all smaller ships

as I drift toward
the genesis of dialect
my only goal
to bridge the crushing severed connection

I don't want anything
and I promise this isn't hyperbole