two.

i hear you talk

to your wife.

my wife.

i see her

and i speak.

you say hello,

like old friends,

now both deaf.

i speak

what my mouth

sucks in

what my ear

spits out.

you pronounce

these and those

with no hope,

blowing air into

popped balloons.

i still say

what she wanted

to hear, and

she has learned

not to care.

you feed her

syllables

without taste,

she swallows

with the right 

amount of haste.

so we wait,

passing summer 

and placed on hold.