by April Michelle Wolverton
the one of he and I,
is only but a vocal aneurysm-
a harmony in discord.
Have you allowed your observance to grow cold upon me?
The embedded scratches on wallpaper
consume the sound of decadence,
but I am unabashed,
because it is growing!
this gentle ballad is echoing!
How I long for you,
to steady your thaws
across my pursed lips-
to sharpen the broken rhythms,
and repair the punctured notes,
until I am fully rooted- the gypsy within me
and I can't help that i come apart,
feeling the shiver's vibration
before he learns of its creation-
but you know, as I know,
that I am no one's only bride.
The music stops...
Have you abandoned me?
For I can no longer hear the tentativeness of your cry.