There are times when you say more with punctuation than with words.
And I feel as hollow as the bones of a bird
Perched beside the potential of your voice
Wanting to soak up whatever you have to say,
Until it is marrow
Something more substantial than all the silence between periods and commas.
Questions left unanswered and minutes flowing through my fingers like water,
Where I don't know what you're telling me,
Or how I'm supposed to feel now.