You sang me Johnny Cash on the phone
i was on my floor in my room
swooning
you in your's
strumming your guitar
with hands that i fell in love with
with a smooth voice that i can't get out of my head
with a guitar you loved more life
with lips that brushed against my neck.
Ironic that it was called hurt
because that's all i have been feeling
that's all i write about
that's all i have to wake up too
the only thing i feel
though numb still
numb to feeling alive
feeling happy
feeling wanted
feeling at all.
Your voice haunts me at night
i can't push it to the back of my mind anymore
i have been doing that all day
so i slowly get in bed
i strum my fingers on my own guitar
and i sing my heart out
because it's broke into many fragments,
like a unfinished puzzle
like my unfinished poems.
So i choke out the pieces
in pain filled lyrics
streaming from my broken soul
with my soft voice turning hard,
heavy with sadness.
Then after i have to stop and catch my breath
realizing i didn't breathe much throughout the song
because god know's it hurts
it hurts
and it takes so much effort to breathe out
without sighing your name
without crying in pain.
Tonight i sang
tell 4 a.m,
i still feel the same.
I kept trying to sing my heart out the rest of the night.
I sung tell i lost my voice.
Tell i lost myself.
Finally,
tell i lost my heart.

You spoke in whispers that night under the stars.
I can't remember what you said,
I just feel your head gently colliding with mine,
hear your laugh as you retreated back, apologizing.
I smell the detergent left in your thin clothes.
I recall your arms wrapped around my waist,
the tingling in my throat as I looked up into your dark features,
your green eyes focused on my lips, but never touching them.

I sense the burning in my torn knee from where my flesh hit the ground earlier that night,
and the sound of my sweet breath against the open wound to reduce the pain.
And again, your laugh, as you gloated over my klutzy behavior.

You didn't say anything significant.
No I love yous, no I can't live without yous, certainly no
you mean the world to mes.
So my ears only heard the summer crickets hiding in the bushes,
and again,
your warm laugh,
with my hands against your stomach
to  feel the hysteria run through your body,
ending its journey as it greeted the air.

That was enough for me.
I didn't need promising cliches to feel content.
Your hand wrapped in mine was enough,
enough for a few lonely evenings
to look back on the memory,
and still feel you with me.

But I still can't recall a word you said,
that night,
as you spoke whispers under the stars.