I've titled this "Sonic Collision"
That flutter in my head
Like wasps behind my eyes
Called out to me
Last night.
That Cadence
Of strings
And Fingers
And tongues
Called out in reverent prayer.
That song of songs.
Arms
And hands
And breath
Call you back in.
The walls
Stained with smoke
And dreams
Black and red colors
Seem too weak
To contain this shout.
That sound of future's past
To often
Come from some instruments
Some machine
Some creation
Of metal
Fuel
The complex material of man.
The fading sunlight
Grasps the locks of your dark hair
Plucking it from the throng
The masses
Time and space
That have passed.
Your breath
Was never there
And mine had been lost
And had been paused
By the ache in my head.
The images on paper of you
Walking
Smiling
Those colorgraphs that hold a moment
That burn into my eyes
If the sun shines on them
Just as I want.
And then your arms fold
Around mine.
But the hands of the clock
Short and long hand pulsing slowly
Have passed midnight
And my voice has called out
My lungs purged of breath.
You are gone.
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