In the darkest hours of
many last nights
we colored the sky
by tracing words together
tied in double knots
each bending
in every direction
exposing everything intimate
getting the heart
to burn with fury

until the last
comfortable pause
you talked about
the taste of rain
blown in from the east
I refuse to swallow
knowing its intention
would chill
the back
of my throat
as it hit
intuition surfacing
like a train wreck
leaving no
sole surviving memory
taking no prisoner
to your affection

The broken phone
beside the bed
never rings
but my fingers
still dial your number
waiting for the tone
of your voice to pick up
even without a pulse