“Bye, honey.”
He said it
with a casual
Southern-sugar-daddy-gentlemanly drawl.
Surely I misheard,
or he misspoke.
Honey.
My mind drifted
and pilfered back through the years,
as if rummaging through a tin
of empty candy wrappers.
Nothing.
No “Baby-doll.”
No “Sweetie-pie.”
Just the one, platonic drop of honey,
newly planted on my cheek-ear
via random phone call;
the sonic equivalent of a reflexive kiss,
that which seldom passes
from one man to another,
even when blood
sticks the two together
amiably.
I... didn’t... know... how... to... feel,
other than embarrassed.
I had rolled around in it.
A meager drop.
Alas, my honey starved soil was human.
Either he misspoke,
or I misheard.
Or he really loved me.
1 comment:
It's nice to see a current picture of you. Sometimes I think of you and wonder how you are; hope you're doing well.
-Howie
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