Tangles

My fingers are tangled in white headphone chords,

my hair is inexcusably out of control,

and you expect me to be thinking of anything else

and anyone else but you?

Sometimes I simply get tired of untying knots,

and I allow myself the freedom to be twisted.

I miss my fetal swaddling,

my infantile cuddling,

my childhood games of tag:

Touch.

I find the thought of getting lost in you

a thought that I'm thinking too

Much-

tangled up and-

I can't tell whose fingers are whose,

which switch to choose

to keep from losing

you.