It’s like the famous saying
“we’re not on the same page”
and we aren’t on the same page-
in fact, most days I’m not even sure if we’re in the same book.
And if we are in the same book
you’re like the audio-book version that everyone listens to because you make it so easy
and I’m like some German edition that everyone wants to own
but never really wants to read.
I listen to you humming through the wires as you tell me
that my chest is just a hall of fame
filled with people who played the game and played it well.
And I tell you that your chest
is something I’ve never even seen the inside of
but I picture it full of things
that I could never really touch
like smoke or clouds or voicemails
saying “I want to but I can’t.”