Baptized In Your Voice

It happens every night.
You say my name like it’s right
in front of you,
staring in your eyes.

You speak, and my attention
is solely on you.
You say, “Did you fall asleep on me?”
And I say, “I don’t know.”

Before you get ready to hang up,
I ask about your day
just to hear your voice.
The truest part of you.

Not the part that speaks when you’re in fear,
when you’re at work or at the store,
and someone speaks to you.

I listen to how your throat relaxes more,
loosens up
like you, too,
have been waiting on this
moment.
You say, “Did you fall asleep on me?”
And I say, “No, just listening to you.”

If ever I need a drink, I call you,
and get lost in sip after sip
of how your voice soothes me
like I’ve closed my eyes
and been baptized
beneath your tongue.