Ticker Tape Tells

Compress your life 

into sentences, Love. 

Tell me
of thousands of coffee moons
rising on newspaper skies; 

tell me 
how you imagine 

the first sacred sip is me, 

heating you from the inside. 

Tell me 
I am as precious 

to you as your first mug, 

indispensable and
strong. 

Tell me
how the morning breeze
plays with your hair, 

how it makes everything
sharper, 

even the fringe of your
eyelashes, 

how even breathing
becomes harder 

in the absence of
warmth. 

Tell me
that I have always been 

so warm, Love. 

Squeeze your days 

into paragraphs. 

Tell me
of billboards you pass, 

the cars that swim 

in the same current, 

the birds that watch you 

from telephone poles and 

the steady cows 

who avoid your gaze. 

Tell me
that every road you drive 

brings you closer to
me. 

Give me your life 

in soundbites, darling. 

Tell me 
of the door 

that you can never lock, 

of the hum of a washing 
machine 

that refuses to wash away 

thoughts of me, 

of the closet full 

of graffitied wishes 

for a life you’ve yet to 
live. 

Tell me 
something, 

I will never 
stop 
listening.