Hear-say

Your voice cracks over the miles;
It's raspier than I remember.
Those extra cigarettes you smoke,
Provoked into substantial truth.
In your voice I hear the crispness
Of the now chill air of our shared home.
It spikes into frost shards,
Angular, like these sharp winter mornings.
It laughs at jokes I haven't cracked yet
And perhaps never will.
Your voice never walks a straight path to me;
It turns into alleyways of the past,
Sneaks into narrow windows of tomorrows.
It spills out of the earpiece,
Exuberantly exploding technical confines.
Your voice makes promises it isn't going to keep.
It is a trecherous no-gooder, I know.
It is the circle to my square,
The ambivalent anti-hero to my gorgeous female lead,
As also the answer to my multi-layered question,
Sometimes.
The air to my fire,
The Aquarius to my Sagitarrius,
Ultimately, mine to know, to love, to hate, to keep.