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Secret Songs of the Passive-Aggressive:

Part 6 - "Touchless"

We talked for hours, 
Over coffee and smoke
Crowing about books at full volume.
Puffing and sipping,
Fresh syllables dripping
From our flushed lips to a smooth
Black plastic countertop hot enough
To send them skittering every which way.
Some soaked into the tightly belted belly
Of napkins in their container,
A few rolled off the edge to the floor,
But not before the rest
Found purchase and clung to our ears.

We talked for hours,
Filling up our parched throats
With bitter drying liquid and cloud.
Not quite flirtation,
Exchanging frustration
At our daily witness of smooth
Predators. How it's enraging enough
To see a toothy smile have its way
With us, blithly filling its swollen belly,
But that such an empty container
Can climb over us to the top floor
With the silent collusion of the rest
Of us, brings a red flush to our ears.

We talked for hours,
while my hooded eyes sought 
Distraction in the clowns behind me.
Seven nights prior 
I'd named my desire.
Nobody watched as I traced smooth
Hands up from ankles, bent just enough
For the day's tension to fan its way
Head to toe, then stood with palms on my belly.
Flushing distraction from my container,
I sank to a seat on the floor
And made my wish, breathing, at rest,
That the unsaid would fly to your ears.

-skyler, January 2001