Hidden Digits Revealed
Four hang ups, no messages left.
Bereft of those moments near the phone,
a lonely heart could only hope it was you
who called while I was required to be away.
A pay phone call would disguise my ID.
Pleas of "Don't leave," beg from your invisible line.
Mine whispers and tugs "I still love you,"
through a muffled extended phone cord,
stored on a thrift store shelf, buried under
wonders alike, like an answering machine
screened of every piece of you it could seek,
antique now, shrouded in nineties' time,
grimy like the thought of being torn apart.
Compartmentalized moments spent
pent up inside on sunny days to not miss
kisses through a magic sound piece
cease to exist in real time, but two could dream.
Seemingly so far away, but in one chance
glance from beyond thrift store isles,
smiles meet again through unscreened numbers.
3-22-2020
|