You Taste like Pink Lipstick

We’re quiet over the phone.
The black receiver is close to my ear
so I can hear your breathing,
your sweet rhythmic breaths that
fill the space where I sleep.
We’re quiet over the phone.
The black receiver is my best friend
Because I can remember seeing you earlier,
you with your bright green top and sunshades that
fill my dreams when I sleep.
We’re quiet over the phone.
The black receiver pushed far from sight
so I can forget your breathing, bright clothes,
and the taste of your pink lipstick
because you’re dead, baby,
and I can’t listen to the dial tone anymore.