signals
SignalsYou said call me —
a door left ajar,
a hand extended into the silence,
trusting the echo to return.
I said I’ll call you —
a promise folded in my pocket,
a coin that may never be spent,
control disguised as care.
Between us hangs the dial tone,
a wire strung tight with longing,
where one waits in quiet hope,
and the other drifts in delay.
And yet —
in the pause between words,
in the static between breaths,
we both know the truth:
connection is a fragile thing,
and sometimes love is only
a number never dialled.
Poetry by anonface
Written on 2025-11-13 at 22:48
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