Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Call me.

You called yesterday while I was sleeping.
My phone picked up your words
and stored them in its belly.
When I finally dug them up, they were stale
and the warmth of your breath had faded
from their core and
left them cold.

If I could hold your words in my palms
and rest your voice against my skin
I'd drink you in through the thin
plastic film that's holding in
my soul within
my body.

I cannot sleep because I keep
wondering if you'd called
and gotten lost
in the silence
of my dreams.

Sometimes I press your whispers into my ear
and rewind the "dears" and sincere
slips of tongue.

Every now and then I'll forget to breathe
and only remember when my feet
turn slightly blue
from being pinned beneath
the weight of the wait
for you.

This time, I'll be there when you call.
I'll wrap every word in festive paper
and seal the vapor of your breath
in crystal bubbles,
condense the syllables
into a bauble
and wear your voice around my neck
and never sleep again.

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