i am a series of circuits that widen
and narrow like valves at your every word;
synaptic breaths conduct a symphony
of mixed signals leaping (it’s the new age ballet)
while word-sparks cross nexus junctions up toward my tongue,
and die before responses develop–
miscommunication generates gaps where energy stalls.
our secrets are bulbs that do not glow;
you spit electrons when you speak
and i am charged with enigmatic passion,
but there is no violent love-storm
to silence the frayed ends of the wires that comprise me
and i am left flickering in deep nights.
[if you do not splice my threads
and charge me to full voltage soon,
i will die.]