The Last Call Elise Nelson
In silence I grip your rough hand, Interlacing my fingers in yours And pulling your hand up to rest Under my tear spackled chin. A choked breath rises in my throat If you were gone, I would feel it Right under this rib, here. Where the wisps of your military cut Brushed as your head dropped Against my chest. If you ceased to exist, I’d feel it On these lips, cold. Still warm and tender from restless, Heated kisses of long ago. If I got the call tomorrow, I’d feel it In my knees as they hit the floor, My tears as they splashed warm against Clasped hands.
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