"Call me," she says,
after more than an hour texting,
if I am a line and she struggling
on a sinking ship
thought I wonder just which of us is really on the titanic.
"Call me,: she says, "I need to hear your
voice."
My phone plays tricks on me
when I call from my basement,
my brain already cluttered with
the bric a brac of her life,
the minute details of her day to day routine,
her rising before
dawn
delaying sleep at night
so she won't get woken
by the hamster ratting
in the cage of her brain,
me, taking it all in,
not getting nearly
enough,
needing to know it
all,
drowning myself in
her world view,
while losing myself in my life,
as if i don't matter when all she does,
I am too much like a boiling lobster
not always aware
when I’ve gone too deep
or gotten cooked.
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