Etude triste

when you love her,
and practice different words
between the silences,
ascending in chromatic notes
to tempt her fortress
until the muscles betray the bones.

yet, lamps smother their song
and I hear a mandolin
when she says,
“it’s too soon for another forever,”
words that are too soon splayed
for another poem.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s