I've sent my voice
as far into you
as you've let it go
perhaps further
than you know,

but the point is that I have sent it,


     you are some kind of
     glittery lime green
     and haven't figured out
     what color I am yet,

     but relationships are
     more like abstract art
     and everyone has
     several (true) colors,

I'm sure we will blend as much as we contrast,


you see in me
the things I try
to understand
to shape what's
left of my ego,

          the things I can
          only hope
          are not delusions
         
          but would be
     no less grateful
if they were,

as long as they're the ones that last lifespans,


     every time you fall
     into my hole in the world;

a television factory
goes out of business,

     the clouds slow
     their roll over the sky
     as if fascinated
     like commuters
     trying to catch
     a glimpse
     at a car crash,

and a child
writes his first
love poem