Made with tears. Same girl.

Splice

I remember
an acoustic guitar
playing minor
chords,

a chatty background,

vanilla, just
the scent,

my two hands
placed over yours
as we try to repair
a broken tape
full of voices.

Trying to put
the torn end
back onto
a white plastic
reel, my muscles tense,
like the distance
between
my knuckles
is shrinking.

But all voices
fade eventually.
Especially ours.
How they came
together and
fell apart like
so much magnetism
wrapped
around reels.

Unreal – how
hands can be so
intimate when
we’re still dressed,
and it’s been so
long since beds
were shared.

The drive across
town seems so
much longer
when I’m just
going home.
I’d love
to splice together
all the
words
never said,
but
you only need
one hand to wave
goodbye, so goodnight.