or do they act
the speech winds itself around the truth
caresses it, fondles it, placates it
and I am on his lap lolling as he's talking to someone else
not a care in the world, he is mine
until he his hers, and hers, and hers, and hers
the random chattering of voices an old-fashioned telephone line of decades of women
and who is he?
a man, a father, a lover, a single person who has a life and soul
should he answer for my dreams?
for my wishes? for what I think he should be, how he should act, what he should think and do
I don't think so