Fall 2011: "ink on recycled paper."

“love,” he says it twice in one breath,
and it startles me, suddenly the walls are whiter

and the fluorescent overhead glare is brighter

and there’s a glow around his skin

as he continues to speak to the full and listening room with his hands and filler words, um.
”love,” and he’s not saying it to me or about me ,

but it sounds too big for his mouth,
like a cough or a yawn.
either way, something he has little control over.