Sitting, Constricted
Strapped into place, leather bound and tongue tied, rubbing against my skin and teeth. "I miss you," comes the clackityclack of my ivory keys. Stunned, listless, and exhaustion conversation. Like children scuffing their feet, not looking at each other, while they talk in a busy playground. Eyes glowing as if by some cold blue irridescent light from inside your bone, sharing space with your consciousness. I cannot see it, but still I ask why you don't stay. Another time, another place, the exchange stumbles along. A sad little dance.