The tap on the door.
The roll off the bed,
The fall of the loose pages
which would just have to wait.
And the walk, double time,
through the dark, to the light
at the end of the corridor.

The weight of the receiver.
The cool of hard plastic.
And, before the first word,
that intake of breath,
as her face comes into focus.

I relax and close the door,
smiling into the thrill of her voice.