the wine hasnt worn off. im waiting for your call. the soft old dusty brown tickly sofa is rubbing on the bottom of my chin as my head is perched on the arm and watching a blue screen as i type. turns you around. turns you around.
the weather is crawling into my bones. time walks by my window with broken feet. the weeks until release go by so slowly. the weeks until car trips and vertigo. falling asleep to kill time.

time between rings. the eternity between answering machines. the miles of wires that connect us to eachother, all tied up around poles and snows and evergreen trees. blackbird feet wrap around our conversations. the dim scratch of their tiny claws and the hiss of distance speak quietly under our breath.
my eyes are still open, but heavy. im watching the minutes change on the mercury display. by now, im thinking about my soft pillow. by now, even the traffic through downtown has hushed. by now, im am almost sure you have forgotten.