Poem: Actual

 

Actual 

 

please leave

whatever excuse at the tone,

and i will fly somehow like a shred

in a flutter over a mountain of trash

 

in search somewhere of that furious ant

we call ‘free time,’  and i will

hop on its back, despite the worries

in my brain being so much larger and

 

then your machine can prioritize my voice

like mine didn’t yours.  however,

if this is an emergency or

a brief bit of warmth,

 

you can evade my device by

taking a step back to count to

ten and do it until your shoulders relax 

and

 

you remember that i

decided the touch of another person,

you in fact, is all i want,

even if it is just a gaze,

 

or the actual hum of your throat.

 

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7/22/25 mods

7/21/25 ... eds  ,,, changed poem title etc.