She talks dirty on the phone
Like one of those call up lines
What charge by the minute
And I can’t get enough
I can’t put together
The voice I’m hearing
With the face I see each
Tuesday across the table from me,
This overnight interlude
That stirs my blood into a boil,
I don’t dare hang up,
Scared I might miss something,
Terrified I might never get another
Call if I do,
As if I am fast asleep
And this is all a dream
From which I refuse to wake,
What is real or unreal,
The line so blurred I can’t tell
Where the dream ends
And waking begins,
And I don’t want to know,
Seduced by a voice
I’m convinced can’t be real
But I need it to be.
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