Every room has a phone, even the bathroom.  Not because I'm on some Mario Puzo-inspired fit of delusions of grandeur, but because wherever I am when she calls, I want to sink down slowly on the house's ubiquitous cushions (or onto the porcelain seat, if it should happen so) and hear her calm, measured tones--the rising and falling of her inflection--the soft comfort of her breathing.  Somehow, it's almost sacrilege to speak back--my voice is the interloper in the priest's most solemn prayer--but I speak, because I cannot help but cry out in sheer joy at her presence.  Hours upon hours we talk there in those darkened rooms, connected only by the grace of AT&T.  That is when I am truly most alive, when I hear that chorus of phones signalling her arrival.

This nodeshell rescued on a dare


They lit up.

Each every small blinking green one, I knew this even though I could see only one.
Phone systems are just that way.

And in tandem clarity the trill took up at slight offset intervals amassing so loud together, she is call singing through wires to me. Does she know the mere precedent to her voice orchestrates this? At times the song means more than her words. There was a time in the past when each syllable was gold precious to hold forever, time passes for seasons the context of conversations slipped sour to new meaning over years. Yet each time no matter the message, the phones would first chorus to me the same as new. And in this I held hope that not each very thing must deteriorate, but may still hold precious parts of the original alongside the shifted result of memories merged years good times tears.
replacing receivers lightly, i remember so fondly (for reasons i try not to understand) the way i would, she would, crashing hard lost, connection, as if we'd never had one. i heard it first inside i knew she would, she always called just before the moon left us. one would carry into the next shrill, ringing, always ringing, the first one i heard with eyes, i'd swear i could see it ring before it was audible, mind's ear, perhaps.
and i would dread it. i was afraid to admit it but i would, sweat and shake and curse under dry breath. curse her, silent... this voice in my thoughts never could be. wouldn't let tension slip through fingertips to hot floor, cold feet, dead eyes she said mine were, but i felt so alive when she left me.

sat and wondered, upon life's bed,
why never one ring, always..
a chorus of phones and she could
pierce my senses with potent words,
destroy careless smile, slipping grasp,
drowning in her thought sea.

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