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