Sometimes,
   and it only happens
                     


                         o   u    
                       r        n
    when I'm     a           d   
                                       you,

             I think it'd be better
           if I didn't

       speak

because my
                 words
                     words
                         words
   
                         d
                         r
                         o
                         p

                            out            
                               of my mouth like raw eggs
                                  and

                                          p  l  
                                        s      a    
                                                  t   on the     p a v e m e n t.


       It's not hot enough
                                 to cook them, but
       it's not cold enough to watch
                                               them slime away. They just sort of


sit there

with f
        r
         o
           w
             n
               s
                 on their non-existent faces,

                        waiting

            for you

to respond.


                                                              At least, when the yolks
                          b   r    e         a           k

you laugh,
   and don't
     notice my
        cringe.