As I’m still achingly sick, another poem from a few years back.  And yeah, it’s about phone sex.

Somewhere there, far away
over the gentle rolling belly of the world
she lies soft on her bed, and moving with it
in a place where the sun has yet to set

she murmurs
“Hold me hold me please hold me
I wish you were here”

And I have nothing I can give her but
a whisper, pulled thin through this hollow phone
“I’m holding you I’m holding you
I’m here with you”

But that is not true

And in the darkness, here
it all  tries to make me feel like a little boy, again
unable to place my hands, unable to move
my arms and my body, where I want
unable to take this, whatever I feel
and do what I want with it

But that also is not true

And I return to this new place
where now her moment is over
and I can hear the sunlight, there, dressing her
as she tells me about her curious cat
and her little garden and how boring her life really is

“now, that is not true”

and I hope she knows I am smiling
as I know now I can hold this, whatever it is
I know now I can choose what is true


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