I live to hear your voice.
I love to hear your laughter,
see your smile or frown
as you tell me some small story.
God, that woman two houses north.
I can’t stand the way she screams
at her oldest daughter and flirts
with the grocery delivery guy.
The tomato plants have buds,
the butterflies love our flower bed.
The cat actually played with the puppy,
and the puppy actually peed outside.
Tell me the little things, the flea-sized,
ambered moments in your universe
when the speed of light parts us
and the evening’s so far from sight.