Trees are bare, for nothing can grow in January.
We
stare through opposite windows
each seeing a different side of that old oak where
we
used to play.
Words are mouthed through glass.
(Fogging the pristine surface
but doing little else.)
They were hyphenated and abbreviated by time until dots and dashes are
all that remain.
I
think once
you
tried to teach me Morse code but
I
have long since forgotten what the dots and dashes mean.
Maybe once
you
tried to say something and
I
should have listened but now all
I
see are abbreviated and hyphenated sentiments, mouthed from young lips
through fogged glass.
.. | .-.. --- ...- . | -.-- --- ..-*
*I love you