he falls into the silences.
climbing out of blushed eyes into intolerable brightness
he begins each day
hating a moment for it's duration
as though water-boarded on yesterday's damp smoke.
his cough is thicker than his wrists
and he holds it close
turning into it as though it were a wife.
arranged in angles in front of me
his fingertips kissing his glass of whiskey
his bottle of beer...
he leaned across the table
brushing his lips against the slow side of my cheek
and i could taste disappearances on his breath.
i think sometimes
that we are all the gently raging victims of proximity
and that it somehow thins the solitude
to be reckless with our scars.
let the man find a solace in the silence behind words.
i will wrap my noise and damage his own like tissue paper.
we can be each other's gift.