The voice moves into my throat and chokes me. It pushes me to write -- to try and say what I hear it saying -- what I feel it saying. Thinking of you and wanting you so badly in the space next to me. Wondering if you are even thinking of me. Am I crazy to come to you? Or to love you? And what is love now -- now that I no longer know?
None of this is what the voice is saying -- and I'm choking. [next poem] Return to selections from i through x