On the Telephone

Talking with friends is cheap—
the weather, the work,
the rickety wheel of love,
then click, the conversation's over.
But now that I've fallen in love
with someone who lives in Seattle,
my telephone bill keeps rising.
At this distance we have to use words
to undress each other. Slip off
your shoes. Unbuckle your belt. Open
your shirt for me button by button.
We take turns. Passion makes us
lower our voices, lower our hands
and imagine the other one
watching or touching. Outside,
birds black as the lace of my bra
unhook themselves from the phone wire.
Must be they feel our tongues
burning the line between us, heat
that stirs each body to its wings.

 

Poems by Melody Lacina: