I tried to get ahold of you. Your phone has been disconnected. Do you have another line?

poetry

I am reaching
I have not touched
stretching fingers
only aiming for the tip
but now my thumb is in your mouth
and what the fuck is up with that?
and I can feel you pulsing
breathing
everything an open
book-on-tape, and now
the little magnetic ribbon
is spooling, spurred on by the
fast-forward button on my
ancient cassette deck.

Show me all your glories
and I’ll pick them apart by way
of not giving a shit.

Though it probably means I love you.

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