Her voice rushes through the earpiece.
I can taste her voice's anger, floating to the surface like a heat that I couldn't bear to touch the surface of,
vibrating through my soul, boiling across her tongue.
The candy apple inflection doesn't sit well with me.
A valley girl accent masks her trailer park roots well.
The voice hovering between her lips is like a fire burning coal to a diamond of bittersweet goodbyes.
Her voice calls me out like an ex-wife but begs me to marry her like a lonely widow.
I can't hear my voice, so I don't know what to do.
(© 2020 by Andrew Cyr)
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The Lonely Position of Neutral
PoetryBen's throat cancer has returned. Living a lonely life, he found a woman he loves but finds out she's been unfaithful. Ben starts to think the lonely position of neutral isn't that bad. He writes poems and dialogue narratives. Will Ben survive cance...
