And this one, too...

Siting in a room that's empty other than
Surrounding skepticism and tension,
There's something in the air.
I can taste it.
Chairs of dingy purple with feet on their rims,
I could see this coming...

With only inches between contact
Of clammy teen fingers and
Elbows grazing, minds running.
Transmitter failure and doubt run the fields, too.
So much talk and yet,
Not much said.

At first, something unexpected,
Two, three, then five fingers cross
and weave and connect.
The pulmonary action in my chest is
Distracting, like hammers
Pounding, pinning nails to ribs and muscle.

This giving up on giving up thing is
Turning out easier than expected,
Doors open, windows close,
The typical metaphors that go along,
They leave my mind as soon as they enter,
And I awaken with a smile and a message.

-A