Fingers twitching, I hold my phone
He is but a touch away,
Yet such will the distance be in the tone
Of his voice, itching for my presence in a way.
In way, I wish I could believe.
This feeling ,like my heartbeat, is all too familiar.
It’s a play performance where, in a swish, a moment we receive.
The ceiling stands still and we become a memorabilia.
But do I miss him?-his personality a raging fire
With his flaws, dismissable like a drop in the ocean.
Or is it to hiss at him that fuels my desire
To open all doors, allowing our hearts to be miscible in rhythmic motion.
My fingers tire of their charade
of bouncing and tossing from one key to the next.
The message they wire scream at me like a parade!
It goes without announcing or fussing that I still wished him to remain an ex.