Bring me snippets of information
infuriate and console me
bother me and wake me,
but still I’m glued to you.
I knead the nape of my neck
the invisible dough back there
blocked and sore, sticky
with painful residue from you.
Refusing your distractions
and feigning relief, I grit my teeth,
slit my wrists and reach for you
again and again and oh…
… and oh, I look and
sometimes see, sometimes read but
mostly my eyes slide across your surface,
not fully taking in what you’re saying.
Stuck to me, thumbs and fingers
ears and eyes, panicked frisks
and with a granite kind of kiss
you’re always there so damn
glued to me.
Book of Pye 