Something wretches in me
when I see her text,
a bit of political
drama
we both have to report
yet has nothing to do with anything,
except this strand of
wire
that keeps us connected,
even when she doesn’t want it to be,
from time to time,
I pluck at this as if a guitar string
to see if its sound
has changed
or gone out of tune
when I still hear her
angelic voice in my head
and know it is a siren’s song
meant not for me,
me apologizing yet again
in the midst of this professional exchange,
chilled by the cold rock
my messages echo off
of,
when once those songs
had sounded so sweet
in this hard response, I recall
softer, tenderer moments
and still feel the tenderness
each time my fingers
touch
and I taste the plump lips
with kisses she’s
long forgotten
I realize something is
better than nothing,
even stone cold.
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