The incessant turning of cogs in
an instrument ran by heart
Shambles.
Stoic, admonishing words
frolicking about as frail, free-floating petals.
Beneath it all the clamorous tug gibing with the
Very voices you kissed me with.
Cold, but
unwinding the taut flesh.
I stayed
though.
By your darkest demons, caressing with
Silk comfort.
Imbuing them with a dancing light lull:
your Reign of Melody.
To projectile your serenading strums,
To stretch out your fingers jangling,
on all the metal of the strings;
Gnashing the ivory saws of your teeth
you severed my bones.
I’ve become your music to trifle
I’ve become your naive, small bell boy.
“We’re not two, but one” you’d say. When
You knew all along, this song steered and dwindled
into paleness.
Sour hush.
