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Like a strong aftertaste
in the mouth
the traffic in my head
is on a roundabout
cruising in circles around
one and the same thing
one and the same man
hours after I’ve hung up
and lain down
I’m playing our conversation
verbatim
on my brain
everything you said
like a temple bell
resonating
long after it was struck

Was it just my
faulty memory
or did you say “I missed you”
more times than
common politeness
would dictate?
Was I just projecting
my own thirst
or was there really
that guttural craving
I heard
from the back of your throat
all the times you spoke my name
signifying
triggering
promising
a selfsame yearning,
an identical need
to consume me
as my own need
to possess you?
Did I imagine it,
but did you really talk as if
you were willing the body
of a desire
to reach across the wires
and grip my limbs,
to slice across the miles
and lock onto my lips?
Was it just me,
or did I really see
mirrored images of
a shared insatiability?
.

sitwindow
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Untitled photo by photographer James Whitmore
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