muting The echo

the only
thing
we ever
got right

was touching
each other.

do not
reverberate
off
skull walls

[playfully
poking me,

grabbing
my hips,

pulling
me
into you]

do not
speak in
our
voice,

use
our
mannerisms.

i see
you still
wear them;

stretching
them
across
your face
forĀ 

someone
else.

your voice,
a
bird-whistle;

you fill
any
room with

ear-shattering
sound.

i leave

because
you

make
-everything-
too crowded,

and
every move
of mine

a tactic
to run
into you.

Roots