Just as in the horror movies
when someone discovers that the phone calls
are coming from inside the house
so, too, I realized
that our tender overlapping
has been taking place only inside me.
All that sweetness, the love and desire--
it's just been me dialing myself
then following the ringing to another room
to find no one on the line,
well, sometimes a little breathing
but more often than not, nothing.
To think that all this time--
which would include the boat rides,
the airport embraces, and all the drinks--
it's been only me and the two telephones,
the one on the wall in the kitchen
and the extension in the darkened guestroom upstairs.
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