Tell Me About the Time

Tell Me About the Time    
 
She called him    
just to talk about    
the things    
they used    
to do,    
   
how it was    
so long ago,  
and what    
they both    
went through.  
   
He spoke    
so distant    
nowadays,  
she comforted    
her friend,    
   
how way    
back then    
it meant    
so much    
to truly let him in.  
   
She flicked    
away    
a cigarette    
and started one    
anew,    
   
and while    
they talked    
she poured a drink    
and finger stirred  
it through.  
   
She lifted it    
and took a sip    
and laid    
her butt    
right down,    
   
and as    
he talked    
of everything,    
she reached    
and felt around.  
   
Her senses    
made    
impassioned trails    
each story    
he'd regale,    
   
and as each    
memory    
uploaded then    
her finger tips    
set sail.  
   
Her breath    
became    
a silken road    
with sips    
and drags between,    
   
as onward    
into flashbacks went    
each vivid,  
lurid    
scene.  
   
Hours passed    
and treasure troves    
of thoughts    
unfolded    
there,    
   
as ever more    
her silence    
broke    
to make him    
more aware.  
   
And finally then    
that heartbreak tale    
of how    
they broke    
the dark,    
   
and clearly    
then    
obsession spoke    
how eons    
lost their spark.  
   
Near breathless now    
she said    
at last,    
"Just tell me    
one more time,"    
   
and then    
he said,    
"I do love you,    
and wish that    
you were mine."  
   
She tipped the glass    
and paused  
a bit    
as fingers    
found their mark,    
   
"Goodnight,"    
she sighed    
and hung the phone    
to silence    
in the dark.