You end your sentences with commas,
thoughts hanging fruit unpicked - waiting.
Whisper, or mumble, I can't hear,
head inclined, sweat-soaked hands
clinched fists against my hips.
What is this?
Do you require a response?
Some decision to pick your
low-hanging thoughts?
You gaze past faces and walls
to somewhere far, far beyond,
and I wonder what potential future you see.
And does it include an actual me?
Or just a decal you keep around
at least until you tear the living room wall down.
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