I remember I used to spend long nights
sprawled on the floor
with my feet propped up against the wall,
or pacing on the balcony
talking on the phone with you.
we talked about sex,
politics, history, and memories.
We always talked about grand ideas
and we would always end
in a sort of limbo,
the way two people are
when they want to be together
but find themselves
on opposite sides
of the country.
But my favorite part
of every conversation,
the most intimate moment
when I truly felt
as if they miles between us had closed
and we were curled up
on the couch together talking,
was when you would pause,
always in the middle of a sentence,
and I would hear a faint little slurp
before you continued,
because for some reason
during that sentence,
you needed a sip
of wine or bourbon or coffee
and simply couldn’t go on without it.
