you were the person I'd call
when the panic of tears
honied my lashes together
and sprung hot like rashes
down my luke cheeks. you'd
listen to my voice thick and
jarred filming through your
phone, slow like molasses
and think like honey. you'd
listen and when I fell as
calm as a clam, you'd
tell me, "baby baby, it's alright."
you used to compare my voice to honey, blue velvet and the nantucket blues. "As slow as honey, as smooth as blue velvet, as soft as hydrangaes." Maybe it was just the writer in you.