poems from a book i'll never write

three // skype calls

you called at half past one
all our chores for the day were done,
we continued to speak about our day
as the world behind us diminished away.

to our desires and terrors
'if i had one wish, i'd wish you were here,'
the outbursts and secrets,
the stories we would possess.

all the while with the clock vigorously ticking,
we laughed as if the world stopped spinning;
but we had to say farewell at half past ten
and at midnight we said goodnight again
-j.s.