bug bites

you are running out
of things to say
aren't you, she says,
smirking in that way
that makes you shake
your head and let
out a  growl.
your fingers rest
upon the keyboard
awaiting any new
idea that might arise.
but nothing comes to mind.
what's the matter she says.
i don't hear any clicking.
oh it's not over, you tell her,
was it over when the titantic
hit an iceberg, yes,
she says. it was over.
well. that's not the right
analogy then is it.
are we having a little
spat, she says while rubbing
ointment onto a line
of mosquito bites
along her leg. maybe i'll write
something about
bug bites, you tell her, staring
at the red bumps. yeah,
she says, who wouldn't
want to read about that.