your fingers are freezing
as if the blood has been
sucked out of each of them
down a twisty straw
that spirals and spirals
and spirals
its purple plastic dense against
the canvas of the world

when you talk
the words you say
inch, careful
not to break the ice
and measured as if
each letter is a code
that i have not
yet learnt
(i once learnt morse code
in eighth grade
when the drone of the charlie brown
wawawawawa became too loud
for my mind near freedom
to take)

my past does not help me
when i am with you
as if the clock
has stopped
and not ceased to exist
but never existed
and my blood starts pulsing
as if it was the new time
as if things
were measured in the space
between beats.

when my fingers start to quiver
i wonder if i can't tap them on the desk
to keep the rhythm
to communicate
to see if you'll shatter
(slightly, barely)