She texts me as I hang up the phone, 
after talking for an hour, 
her words reaching me
 in the same way her
voice does,
 stirring me up on the
inside
 like renewed coals,
She saying how much she
Enjoyed talking to me
I tell her the same
fumbling over
 the small keyboard 
of my cell phone the way
 I sometimes stutter
when 
I'm embarrassed to speak, 
each letter, word or more, 
a painful exercise I need to complete 
before I stumble off to sleep,
my response eliciting her to respond
my head already aching
 for the soft embrace
of my pillow 
while I ponder if she is as soft to touch, 
my fingers throbbing as I text, 
yet not from the effort of this conversation
, tingling in anticipation of what might be, could be,
 and what she likely
feels like
 if I do, 
aching all the way down.

 
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