Telefoon

I’m eating your voice like it’s sugar and it
is: raw brown sugar on a spoon. The phone is
a spoon. Your voice is inside the phone. I’m
inside your rainbows, ice. I hear beeps (the
time runs out and we’re disconnecting again.
Outside the weather reporter runs around on
cloud nine because here’s another sunny day!
I told you so. Translation engine, re-kindle
these lonely spoons! I’m a hurried shower or
a missed train. Some things remain constant:
freckles, sunshine and coffee. Others start
to blur: time differences, texts and dreams,
expressing new beginnings, small bird calls.

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