The Red Pain of Distance
The quiver in your voice touches me
and how I imagine your hands moving
over the items of your desk,
picking up little things and setting them aside
without really seeing what they are.
And I hear your smile
and the hairs of your beard curve
as you lick your lips and laugh lightly,
a fluttering that makes me stop in wonder
waiting for it again.
We pause, we breathe, we pause again until
your little groan of agony binds me to
the disappointment I feel
when our conversation ends,
as called away, you must go.
26 September 2011