Just enough
Of a quiet
crackle.
The phone line
Held on
To the voices
With the
desperation
Of a nest
So threatened
By the wind.
The gulp of air
Through dry leaves
And their memories
Of hair on the
pillow
By a broken
ashtray
So full of stains
Of decaying
passion
So carelessly
stubbed
To stain and
linger.
Comments