The phone presses the curve of my cheek,
pushes the voice into the rims of my ear,
into the lobes of my brain.
Only a voice filled with the sweat, the spit, the blood, the taste,
the arms, the raw meat wrapped in skin, the lips and
tongue twisting, the eyes, the clutching hands,
the tears, the troubles, the heat, the stories, the tingling sweet smell,
the breath of others,
only a voice so burdened and so heavy
can fit into my ear like this,
can wrap phone lines around my neck
and rip my head off
like this.