instigation.

we are ignoring.

we're too young to really cope with the problem.

this is two years we've known each other's voices,
when we only knew our physical selves for ten minutes.
we met on bad terms.

we have maintained a forced relationship
and shared the most frightening of stories,
like the vengeance i've gotten on lovers,
or the people you've beaten senseless.

(this is hundreds of miles apart we've lived,
this is hours worth of phone cords.)


concert life. swing pits.
the sweaty way you gasp for air, like drowning.
like dying but feeling so alive
and stealing drumsticks and falsified kisses
and hitchiking home
and the houses of total strangers
you slept at in desperation.

(i understand what's going on.
don't tell)


so you promise you'll come see me in a week's time.
the first time we've met in two years
and i wonder if we'll be able to communicate
those cigarette burns and movie scripts
without a phone cord
and hundreds of miles
between us.