Waiting [2]

There are people to live for and people to die for I comfort myself: there are people to sleep with and people to wake with there are fifty thousand years of waiting between one ping and the next ping I am waiter worshipper of pings I text myself to test the mechanism keep the phone on my body at all times keep my body in the condo where electricity is and also the internet I cannot shower with the phone on a towel at arms reach cannot sleep without the phone beneath my pillow on a gut string hooked through my cheek the pings yanking me from my watery dreams outside if I must be outside away from the electrical sockets I—but I never go outside there is no order to the waiting he pings I salivate instantly the joy in my bark is so sore is so severe it is almost rage I say hello this rationing is waterboarding please I need more air he says I breathe into your lungs hello I say am I not enough or are you not enough? he says my heart isn't a jar isn't a swimming pool the more love I have the more love I have I comfort myself: she might know his morning smell but she doesn't know her own fleecing she might know his morning smell but I know her name and mine.