we spoke in the past
I declared my name something else
you didn’t reply
I find myself here
pen in hand
listening to the background noise
and thinking about you
you taught me the crypt
I wrote sonnets in it for you
with image maps
and embedded audio
maybe nothing is the same
I really just want to ask you a question
but under pressure I have absolutely no idea what it is
do you remember the soft glow of the midnight lights in the still summer air of a small town?
that kind of silence still speaks to me.