Mail me your voice

as though it were

a kiss-incarnate.

Good mornings

and fingertip sliced good nights.

I wake up

to the static

of your leftover voice

(and it holds no candle

to the original

authentic tone

when you say my name -

I like the way your lips slide across the syllables of it.)

I listen over, and over

to your voice mail

and pretend

that your hands are still in my hair

when you say: