askew

i don't remember when life became so taut 
snapping at the barest premonition
no room for syncopated rhythms: 
a smile faltering on screen,
the seconds it takes for a dear face
to compose itself, a discomfort unspoken
out of kindness, but splayed in the eyes. 
the ordinary secrecies of love and time

everything leaves a mark, everything 
must be reset, a conversation to be had
with oneself (or another, on a good day)
no tissue of trust between this life 
and the world into which it huddles, 
restless and dislodged. 

like braided ropes, we scrape against each other,
we swing between one sugar rush and the next.