Deep, low, the timber and pitch wraps around my mind
and if you looked in the dim greys of my mind, you’d see
a bright spark of light, and that’s my darlin.
A voice like coffee, a bright note and depth
that I would sink into and listen to for hours. The patient measure
of breath over a phone line, and I can feel the smile,
as he listens, and then the reply, soft and deep
and I fall again, just listening. A soft song is sung
to tease a smile out of me as the hours pass.
But there are words that tremor through the line, through my voice.
Not spoken, but heard, through time, between each breath.
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.