Like criminals quietly confessing sins,
I say I miss you and you say you miss me.
We have no answers for each other, no sure-fire
quick-fire twisting wildfire
answer. Nothing that would piece you together.
I miss nothing that you do not have,
dislike nothing I remember. I remember
little, as if we were like the haze
of dawn retreating to the dew on the grass
along with the darkness of near-mornings.
This is what I remember most:
the near mornings; the incoherent midnights,
the quick step-step of the rush back to go online.
The subtle tapping of mobile phone keys,
the gentle clasping of my ear.
As you retreat into solitude, I surrender to mine.
But there will always be our confessions.