the cadence,
the laugh,
the uvula that juggles knives,
the pistol dreams,
the stunning ability to make me feel calm
and nervous within the same miraculous moment.
other voices I simply hear;
hers I hold onto.
with the sound,
she can speak a fine gone world into existence
or empty a former life of its meaning.
she can crush me with her wayward words
...she has, in fact, a time or twelve.
to hear her, regardless of what is being said,
is an excellent thing,
ever lent to truth and love and meekness.
a simple cellphone conversation
can kill a man,
but it gives this dead man a new life in the pines.
let this poem be ego
or insecurity;
I got nada to lose,
just time to listen,
oh my goddamn,
and I don't even care.