I spend all night talking on the phone,
Her voice smooth and low
Whispering into the phone so softly,
That her breath swallows every word
I can feel her smile
Bracing her cheeks, almost piercing into her freckles
She gently laughs, low enough that her parents won't hear
I love the way she breathes as she's falling asleep
Slow and heavy
The stress of the day escaping her lungs
Letting her drift into a state of pure bliss
As she sleeps I listen
Waiting to hear my name under her breath
Our conversation bring us into the early morning
Eyes barely open
We plan on getting McDonald's breakfast
But we doze off before we get out the door
I could spend every night like this
And never grow tired of her voice
YOU ARE READING
gas station flowers
Poesiacoming of age poetry by a queer young adult writer. navigating relationships and the coming out process. peak inside the mind of a young woman with a mental illness.
