In Warmth and Hunger

I tuck my legs beneath me, wrap myself in warmth and hunger. I rest my head on the arm of the loveseat; my eyes focus and refocus on your name, your face. Your uncertain smile begins to flicker and finally fade. My hands grow heavy over time. I am used to the bright hiccup of your laugh but now somehow manage to hear the quicksilver slide of one disobedient tear slip and fall into the rough upholstery. The signs are no longer clear, I search for intent. Not long ago you whispered poetry across the ocean until I writhed with longing for your voice. Did I imagine my throat sore from words unsaid? Do you grow tired, dropping your head to a plastic pillow, your monitor glaring blankly down?

I spun silver and green for you, promises whipped into a froth and a skipping giggle. In the rushing blush of want and imagination I found you. I found you. Now let me hear your answer, if it's your nervous call or a dark and hollow no, I can bear it. All but silence, all but this, whatever the price of pleasure, I'll pay and count myself lucky.

"Are you alright? I wish you'd give me a little clue.
Is there something that you want to say? 'Cause you took off without a word.
Are you alright, you flew away like a little bird.
Is there anything I can do? 'Cause I need to hear from you."
- Lucinda Williams