still in the periphery.

sometimes I call your phone and listen
to your answering message like I am listening
to the inside of a shell
“please leave your name and number
and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can”
–if I pour sand down your throat
will it make your voice huskier,
will you know that I have your number
saved as “Dorian Gray”,
will you look in the mirror and see
the red tips of your ears, do your palms
itch?

I wake up with lines of Scripture in my head
like they’ve been whispered in my ear
while I was sleeping, like I am
the shell and you are just a figment
of my ever-expanding universe, whispering
the names of girls you met once
and liked once
and can’t remember the name of now

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