so has been the comfort of the dial tone
where i hang my hopes as if i were
a body in the grass somewhere golden
i hang them on your voice as if your voice
       was something solid;
i am tethering everything to your voice,
with stubborn determination
your smile so aphrodisiac, the edges of your eyes
       speaking volumes
suggesting close intimacy so claustrophobic
to unite; the reocurrence is vespertine
and i ache! - for you are missing, missing,
gone from here,
     where you should be
and to anticipation i owe an ode for there is much
to be said about yearning, yearning
growing desperately impatient for the edge
of your neck somewhere close to my mouth
        where i so need it
to sing an ode to your body; electric in impulse
to spill, every yellow secret of mine, every shade
of blue and red and golden; yours to keep forever