whale songs.

Our breath fogs either side
of this glass pane that
divides my flesh from yours.
My inhale matches your exhale,
but I can’t breathe you in.
My palm reaches for your face,
deflected, leaving a printed streak
on the translucent traitor.
Your eyes yank mine,
expressing what would only sound like
whale songs.
Your frustration seethes, a crescendo
that plateaus to anger and
your words are lost.
One final slam of your fists on
thick glass,
and your rubber soles retreat
while I’m left trying.