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.