my father’s modern son

i heard it crooned over car speakers once that telephones make strangers out of lovers… but the vibrations coming from my right front pocket that have burdened me this past week tell me otherwise. growing on is my familiarity with someone.

the only thing that i can decide is that i am supposed to be my father’s modern son… but i have feelings that are as old as antiques & equally as fragile… so i keep my body like a museum. look but don’t touch, darling. you’re not ready for the responsibility that comes with collecting, storing, & displaying such valuable sentiments.