tonight you were one of those phone calls.
the kind that command.
the kind that plead.

once the eye of a storm
that long since has forgotten
about you.

your vapor trail has always been
limited,
now it is you who come
to me.

and i press the button
again and again
bantering with my common sense
over pints of
stolen whiskey.

what if it's true
what if it's real
what if i could get lost
and melt
again?

my mind runs rampant,
remembering ricochet eyes
and floundering nightspells.

i will go through my room
lingering over photos of
our youth,
i will cover myself with
that fragrance
you always loved
that smelled like raspberries
and cream.

i will relive our private jokes
and sufferances,
but i will not return your call,
because when you are young
you are naive enough to hope
for something that will never happen,
and when you are older,
you know better.

tonight i drank half a bottle of scotch,
and dialed the
first six
numbers.

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