The Viewing Seat

It chills through my chest
watching the city alive from afar,
bustling so perfectly that it’s quiet.
It’s quiet out here, too.
Everything has been said and
– without anxiety –
Our silence sounds a lot
like when our tongues bound together
and I’m sure that you sit with
that in mind.
I think the lights get brighter
on a winter night
and everything shines crisp.
I hope you’re thinking the same,
that you have the same chills
when breathing a change rattles around in the chest
when whole is too much and we hollow instead.

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