This poem was actually published in my local literary journal. It concerns my thoughts while I was in a long-distance relationship. Gal, those suck.
You are the sound of Bossa.
The ringtone that announces to the world who’s talking.
My fingers glitch on the small keypad,
continueing the conversation in my hand.
Keeping you in hand.
Those little words on a phone, my connection;
is that really you, fuzzy?
Yes, you were there before, real
in touch, truly on hand.
That boy, yes, the one who’s eyes sparkle when he smiles.
Who’s scent of exotic spices calms me with the existence.
Yet, mostly, I’m searching
through rings of Bossa,
the glare of the too small and intangible screens
the too small inaudible words
the too small phrases.
‘I love you.’
Makes the empty more deafening than ever before.