i don't know why my mouth gums
up when you talk to me.
i tried to offer, meant
to say—two words, your
basic apology—
but
the words would not cleave, they
hung, forced the works to
a halt
until "uh-huh"
was my
only articulation.
these days we rarely speak
although
when we do,
i shake
around you
my prolific
mouth shudders to a halt
although
i itch to
say,
i’m sorry
you talked about the band, gave me
headphones to hear
your new songs,
especially
the
nerve
splinter
ing
one about me,
the rough
draft of which
i found hiding in my favorite novel
between 682, 83.
you sent it back
through a friend,
three months after i
asked for it
back
so now i remain,
with my tongue tied somehow about
your heart, which left
with you
an hour or two
ago, heading out into the night
*senior thesis poem
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