That Day On The Phone Poem by Deanna Holcomb

That Day On The Phone

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…

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 a stone in my mouth
My arms & breasts felt like mistakes
Our bodies trying to do what we cannot say?

And Still…

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
But 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 gooey candy?
Your stubble on my thigh?

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

WHY DOES MY LOVE HIDE IN YOUR MOUTH LIKE A CORRODED LOVER?

Broken - covered in lust and sin

Why am I dust?

A “thing” can have a course that is a not a choice.
Logic can lay carnage to the beauty and the frailties things.
Even still
The only thing I hear is your voice.

And I wonder…

Why is he not terrified?