A series of processes

We are isolation. Unvoiced thoughts. Darknesses we can’t walk through together. We slosh and clink against this tippy-toed talk. Chasms always yawn as we converse in half-light, full-light. Your nodding head tells lies and believes them. My tectonic plates slip without a surficial shudder. We pretend to speak of drowning while we smother in the collapse of unshared spaces.