January 11, 2008
I dial onto telephone keypads
With anxious fingertips
To whisper my third goodnight
Desperate to hear the smile in your voice
As I coo I-love-you’s
Into where your xylophone ribcage should be

But I am left, empty-handed
When I should be cradling
Your weary head
In my condensation palms

So instead,
I exhale I-miss-you’s
As I dwell on thoughts of
Kissing the top of your dusty head
And how much I admire
Your hip-bone-kissing lips

These long distance calls
Are sometimes all I have
So I cling to them with saran-wrap eyelids
And listen hard
For your steady voice to calm
My stop-start tendencies
Caused by set backs and due dates

But for now
These conversations are enough,
To keep the glow
In my breeze block heart

They are

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