Silence. Break it.
He sits wide eyed hand just before his mouth 23, 34, 57, 81 prattling on all for the words if it weren’t for the words youthful thin close cropped stocky heavy a bushel of hair taut grey withered all through time the meaty lips if it weren’t for the words she would’ve left me she would’ve stayed fingers an inch from lips eyes into the blue haze of the tv screen on and on whisper into the dark and the words never fully took hold of me of her of us just this divisive nature of language and all the details scurried out of reach out of my tongue and I could’ve said anything would’ve said anything but for here but for here but for here, no-
Break it.