Musical weather and skin cramps
everyone’s style,

the barrier between. Between
me and you. The stereo cringes

its tune through the room and you are
singing back to the voice.

For example, take me.

Coffee, please. Two chairs not empty
like two chairs empty. You tell me

I’ll understand. My hand runs across 
the lacquered table-top. Its print fades

so slowly I watch the whole of it.

It’s been a while. Think about math
from calculus. That long.

Description, you say, is inaccurate.
Your hair looks exactly
like the remains of the past
I buried. Rot. Your face becomes

that other person’s problem to devote.
I sit at the table and want

to believe you’re here. Disgust in
company kept. Take me, for example.