Sunday, September 17, 2017

Teenage love

Your old violins,
a long black overcoat that lines your features

your imaginative ways to make me smile
a turban wrapped to heat your bald head in the winter hours

 your new cigars
smoking breaks between the instruments and the music

always sweet,
the exchange of note to voice, of symbols to music

your hands and fingers
made razor sharp by the incision of strings

Nowadays, your violin weeps
for another woman while all I can do is hold to memory

No comments:

Post a Comment