mute

an absence of language--
she sits on the floor. her fingers
click and tap, her brown eyes, like
a dead leaf, flat and blind.

i sit on my bed, my words
glued to the floor
under dirty clothes and last night's
dinner.

a silent trembling within the air
pervades my skin, pale with the winter
and thin with anxiety.

she clicks
and taps
and stares
a perfect composure,
a polariod snapshot
of our separation.

my muscles tense,
then freeze, longing to
reach or hold or hit--
but nothing.
my tongue thick like an animal's,
all i want to say
i don't know how to say
just scream.