My lover is calling me
Why aren’t I answering?
My lips are so dry
Why leave them the way they are?

All the people that call me
will eventually stop one day
Will I be relieved or lonely
when that wretched phone stops ringing?

Graffiti lipstick on the walls that you built
to protect your heart from the world you felt
was an affront on your dignity.
But maybe I’ll build some stilts
and reach your sweet centre
to find it’s empty.

One day I swear
I’ll find a lost lover where
I never expected to find him.
On a park bench reading
or a blank stage sweeping
and he’ll look up from whatever task
and say, “I’m sure I met you before-
I was certain I banished you
from the corners of my heart.
Was it in this life we met?
Or one I sacrificed before?”
And I’ll stare into his eyes,
remember a journey I despise
and look down at fading scars
that he once brought forth from my skin.
And I’ll look at him, sincere
wishing my words were his to hear
and hold close with him every day
as he’d go about his earthly duties.
My lips will part and say,
“No sir, I don’t think
we knew each other that way.
But perhaps we will sometime
if we meet another day.”