long distance

She is the hot breath crackling

too close to the phone’s mic,

a phantom kiss on the ear.

I feel the sum of our love best right

here when she tells me about what

I’ve missed since I’ve been away.

She dances around the betrayal,

how she wishes I would’ve just

stayed so the wound of our lonely

could’ve been stitched by ten minutes

in a car and not two hours, fifty-two

dollars on the train. When I hear her

fall away into sleep I close my eyes

and pretend she is the pillow I lie on.

In the morning I wake to the sweet

whistle of her snore and I hang up,

make coffee and wish I could’ve

slept in, dreamt some more.

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