as silence escapes
your quivering, timid lips,
my valves desist (they are rebellious).

but like the dark birds
that depart to seek refuge,
(there is none) they return to proper order.

and again, i am
at peace with myself-
with the world and with your empty reflection.

it is my red chest
(not my heart) that pains me so.
and the hired help refuses to answer my calls.

postmortem, shallow;
used to define what is left
of the shell that sits, lonely, on my dresser.

i find no answer
for the questions you don’t ask.
yet your eyes cast down, as if i disappoint.

(let’s pray that this passes.)