we hum along.

a coursing sound like the
shock ed intermittence of the
formal ghost,
the one who always wore his tie -
a breathy name, an audio file
that you might want to screw
 into the wine.

it's all
silicon to them,
 pretend, but the lightning in our heads
  is the same as in our hands,
 
 you are collected and coherent,
  understood in metaphor and not without it.

hold me closer than the atmos, the stratos, the siloschasm
 a line of zeroes just wishing you would be the one.