Static overtones provide cacophonous shelter  for your reason, each time I would dial in your melody; yet I, eventually drop the phone just so I can watch it mimic your slipping away, hoping that gravity would halt and you would stay near me relative to the same way you once did, and only my phone survived unbroken from that titan fall.


A Voice

Speaking through muted syllables anonymous and lethargic so that they rest on the mic, un-able to expound and reverberate throughout a room, un-willing to lengthen each syllable and to cut off the no-ise that erupts from the murmuring onlookers who hear no-thing of me and rather listen to the sound of my abacus sweat dropping to the ground numbering the seconds until I find a voice.