the telephone episode

In the dead of a cool night

I pick up the telephone

I dial your number

I know it off by heart, although the end numbers give me a hard time, coincidently like the end of our liaison

The voice I’m so familiar with lolls around in my head

It’s been 5 months, 26 days, 8 hours, 31 minutes, 6, 5 seconds,

It’s still as clear, as disfigured as that scar on my lower back

2 rings have gone by

Rhythmically erratic, my heart is thrashing like a fist on a goblet drum

8 rings pass

I retreat

I was yet a memory to him

The hurt of separation still lingers with me.