“T”

She calls me

“T”.

My image

My being

My character

My color

Has been broken down

Into one syllable...

Compressed

To a single letter.

But I like it.

“T”

Flows out of her mouth

Like comfort...

Like she has known me for years

Like old friends

From the past

That have become lovers

Noir like...

Black and white like...

Like old classic Hollywood movie magic

With lots of nostalgic dialogue

And the georgeous starlet

Pleads with the lead role

Into the black telephone...

“T”.

She whispers into his ear

In a poignent moment...

Her eyes as dark

As his slicked back hair.

The suspense is there.

“T”.

They are there in grips

As all hell is about to break loose.

SUSPENSE!

And she so eloquently

Releases the word

The symbol

The single letter

“T”.

Like black and white butterflies

Escaping

Fluttering

Into the celebrity

And poetry

Of any distinctive moment

Found deep within

A ‘Lauren Bacall’ or a ‘Humphry Bogart’

Picture...

Like the flicker of the projector

High up

In the back of a dark theater

My heart

Beats just a little bit more

A little faster...

When she calls me

“T”.