On A Phonecall

Beridden and recuperating, I was alone, and lonely.

Just now you phoned,
lent me the gift of that lilting accent
tripping your vowels a consonants
in my language over your tongue.
What could be more beautiful to me
at these moments of self-reparation
than the sensual tones your perfect mouth creates?
Well, for one,
you could trust
that I know what I know
and have done what I have done
precisely because I am right.
Not right about everythin, of course,
but about my body, yes. So,
if trusting that you trust you
to join me in some moment,
then how more beauitful that call could have been,
and would not have seemed a duty
bestowed by a stranger,
but a connection with a lover.
And when I say 'Everything is beautiful',
do not reply'Yes, my weekend will be beautiful',
because we both know that we wil not be together,
and if that hundred miles of distance or more
make it more beautiful for you
then where should I gather those reassurances?
It's ok, though. I will have my pain,
within
and without,
but I will be happy,
for you will have the sun.