Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Tongues of Angels

“I was in love with sound,” you told me, like 

A man speaking of his lover that he should never 

Have let go, like you nearly ached for her 

Embrace, to hear the whisper of her voice 

In your ear again, but you let her go, broke her heart 

And now it’s your heart that splinters as 

You remember her touch. 


You were in love with sound; you were in love with 

Language, speaking in tongues of angels 

With no need for an interpreter; 

You read her letters, shredded her phone bills, 

Kept the mix tape she made you the night you broke up. 


You let her go, and would pursue her once again 

But for the loss, for the fear that the space 

She left behind, a quiet so loud it makes you 

Scream, can never be filled by the memory of her. 


So in her wake I put pixel to screen 

And try to paint her picture for you in black and white— 

Not the same as her kiss, 

But enough to make you write her one more time.  


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