At 10:27pm, you call
and we whisper sweet nothings,
holding our tongues
to keep from bending our bond.

Conversation becomes hard
as we tiptoe around the things
we really want to say.

I laugh,
releasing the bubbles that you put in my lungs.
I'll admit breathing is easier with you.
Air couldn't be more precious
If it were made of gold encrusted diamonds.
That's because of you.

I don't mind singing off-key songs in your ear
because there's no doubt for your acceptance.
You encourage those flawed concerts
as if they were choral ensembles.
At times you join in, just as off-key
as though you are just as imperfect as me.

You begin to tell me of a dream
and then stop.
I shouldn't know,
but we don't keep secrets from each other.
We move on to talk of the moon
and Bruno Mars, stars and movies,
just to drift back into your fatigue fantasy.
I smile,
but you don't want me to respond.

At 11:49pm, you have to go.
Neither of us wants to end the conversation.
I'm sad, but I don't let you know.
"Platonic" we repeat.
It's only to remind ourselves.
You reluctantly hang up
after we exchange an "I love you,"
with more depth than either of us will admit.