Kendra Jean, Call Me, Please!

I still remember 
your laugh in the morning light,
like church bells tangled in summer night.
Your name on my lips was a whispered prayer,
now it's smoke in the wind, just hanging there.

Kendra Jean, do you still wear red?
Do you still dream in songs we said?
I’ve kept a note of yours in a jacket sleeve,
read it slow on nights I grieve.

I don’t want much...
just a voice, a sign,
a “hey, how’ve you been?” across the line.
So if you catch this through some breeze...
Kendra Jean, call me, please.