Voicemail ~ Dangerously Beige
He calls me again, this one
whom I met only once, the moment
is vivid and my smile recalls,
his glasses matched mine, his sense
of humor and style harmonized.
I let the answering machine beep,
my skepticism and distrust attending,
then listen intently, and push play.
His voice again, delicious and playful,
his words performed for my senses.
Consonance to my ears.
He plays the game, they say
and I fear, his sincerity
may take second fiddle to flattery.
I take some time to return his call,
practiced at suspicion and guarded
with experience. It might be better
that he’s just pretending, I’m not
ready for seriousness. When I call
he has a conflict, and wants to change
our date. “Thursday, it is.”
We meet for coffee, drink too much,
sit, talk, and laugh with ease.
Time passes quickly, but we’re not
ready to call it a day. We get a bite to eat
and go see “Romeo and Juliet”
those foolish idealistic young lovers.
Afterwards we grab a beer and giggle
over youth, and impetuousness.
“Next time,” I say. Knowing it
will be soon. He calls again,
again the machine, his voice singing
over the buzz of my reticence.
I call him back quickly this time.
He has a blues band on his mind.
We go dancing and again share
the laughter and comfort. The sounds
of the music joining our counterpoint.
When our hands meet we can’t seem to
let go. After the listening , after the dancing,
we move to my house and drink coffee, again.
His kisses are lovely and to be held
is much sweeter then I remembered.
Next time he calls I will answer.
