as a ten-digit number
from the well-thumbed
confines
of a faded telephone diary.
it's been years, i muse
peering intently
at your name for several
long seconds in discomfort.
memories of you zip through
my care-worn fingers
in many telephone conversations,
in shared cups of tea
spent at a dilapidated canteen,
and long walks to nowhere
to no purpose,
except professions of love
and sacred vows.
you are just a name now,
not even a sharp intake of breath.
1 comment:
very nice :)
teeeeeeee
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