It’s the flick of a wrist
or the turn in your neck
the tapping of a foot
the way one leg crosses the other
the lapse between sighs
is broader
your stride
remarkably colder
it’s the closing of curtains
before it gets dark
hesitant sips of air
before responding
your windows seem smaller
it’s the way you lick your lips
or bat your eye
after I something I’ve said
or when I draw closer
your arms just fumble
around me
it’s the folding of napkins
and the reorganization of space
it’s when you start talking over me
or not talking at all
or fail to tie packages
or bed your indifference.
