Office.

[apple_pye]

I.
Eighth floor.
Windows tremble
Beneath the constant pitter patter.
Opening mine, I look down and
Each drop flickers with recognition
As it holds the city scape
That hurtles past inside.

Until shattering into the ripples of the pavement.

II.
Shredded paper lies
In lines twisted into curls
Bounced hairlike
Into place
Shuddering slightly.

The vapid swivels
Turn like a tounge
Over teeth
Repeating a word
Til it loses coherance.

III.
The sky is lit up -
a yellow glow of the stars
of strip lights
And street lamps
That tell you there's no need to look up.

IV.
And the flicker of
Eyelids wanting to escape
Conversation.
The concocted smiles
Reflected on my lips,
As they did the last time we spoke.

I turn over.

The cold side of the pillow
Feels sodden against the skin
Of my softened cheek;
The O in your face blows stagnant air
Into mine.

You sleep in your suit.

There's no other outfit, you say,
That can make you feel so naked.