In the corner of my ear
Curled in a whorled canal
I seem to hear
An  echo of the ring
I am expecting
From  that white
Box  with buttons
In the other room.

I am ready to receive
Your  voice,
But  your call doesn't
Come  and  your words
Merely hover  in my fiction
While my  brain knows full
Well you  think not
Of  me at all; yet I
Still imagine noise, I hear
Trilling break the silence
Through  the hall.
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