As if everything inside a glass case: the register
your voice not on top but across the room. Gloves
like a white picket fence. Curtain parting. Cross
the room I say. You say. Wife
Do not take care to not leave fingerprints.
We reach for each other as if compelling
the gloves to slip
I’ve been trying a tell to tell
you: I’ve been taking off in slow motion: I’ve been
pin-hole-exposed for days-with
holding the syllable, As if a gloved gun
chloroform or silk over my vowed mouth.