I could talk all day   about deconstruction
but it wouldn't change   that whisper of yours
the invisible language of a discourse in solitude
diatribe in tongues   ripping from our mouths
like the couple next door   the ones who study barefoot
then argue about the nature of cold
you remember   we used to hear them
shouting about the aesthetics of pain
through the brick wall   Could we be that way? 
I wasn't prepared to answer
Then you told me   what love was like :
infinite   with the noise of a jackhammer