That Day On The Phone Poem by DeAnna Esquilin

We are a “Thing.”
“We just hang there”
you say…

Like a 'thing' weren’t

A Planet
Or a Star
Or a Galaxy

Immense
Ancient

Complex. Celestial certainty.

And suddenly I am standing in the dessert blistering & thirsty.

We are “Sex.”
“Nothing more”
you say (acidly) …

How casually cruel of you my Prince?

(Yep, a 15 yr sex addict for just you)
(Me love you long time gone wild)
(We two, decade long adolescent, horn-dogs screwing like middle aged rabbits)

Really?
I remember each time as awkward
My tongue like stone in my mouth
My arms & breasts felt like genetic mistakes
Our bodies trying to do what we cannot say?

I recall visits where I wore my desire for you like a red hat at funeral
Wrong and Bold
And you
Donned always in sadness
Always in longing for me
Still come.

Still, you come?

It is cruel to love a man deeper than his reasoning
It is the not believing that breeds malignant
Years pass like death and I still taste your name in my mouth
And your daydreams call to me naked and raw
Loving you is like being welded to death.
Abstract
Indifferent.
Always Sorrow.
Always Absent.
Always Absolute.

Why then do I miss your hands like phantom limbs of my own?
Your nail beds.
Smooth, wide and white as stones.

Why do I require the sound of your voice?
Your lips like glossed candy?
Your stubble on my thigh?

Why do your thoughts carry me to you?
Or you to me?

Why is loving you feel like I'm a conscious cadaver?

Convoluted and Broken -

A “Thing” can have a course that is a not a choice.
Logic can lay carnage to the beauty and frailties of 'Things.'

And as I lay dying,
The only thing I hear is your voice.
(always your voice)

And I wonder…
Does he not understand the terminus of death?

The
fatal
destruction
of
words.