when the neighbor asks for us to quiet down
a phone in my face lights up and you remind me
the show we watched that night no longer exists
these dropped stitches in conversation
question if i'm the loudest in the room and feel ok
soliciting shiny cores of heartbreak to someone else
it isn't enticing a bedspread a pocket quilted
like staying up without moonlight or street lamps
it's my words hurting even overflowing cups