Walking to class
Fearing all words
When I hear a toned,
bittersweet,
thoughtful word.

It calls to me,
and I answer,
following the word into a place
where the acoustics could carry
even the most sinful of sounds to Heaven

There's no one there but Aphrodite
Are we in Milos?
She stands there; atop a fountain with
water so crystal clear I can see my reflection
A reflection, so vivid, I can almost hear myself,
Speaking meaningless words that sound
Better to Hear than to Say

And I see what I could have been