Missed Call (for S–)

You were
in my back pocket today,
tucked between
generous flesh
and thin denim.

I thought I dreamed,
or had awakened still drunk —
hands shaking, eyes sticky —
deciphering your name
from a foreign tongue.

Minutes passed
while I stood in line
to take in truth
and pay the bill.

My fingers trembled
above a return message;
the cashier’s look
spilled impatience on the counter
as I hit send.

I slipped you in
again between flesh and denim —
heart kettling behind my ribs.



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