This Desperate Music Wound

I’ve turned you into music.

Plug in,

Press play,

And there you are.

In every syncopated beat,

hurting,

breathing,

a curt longing for

the same being.

In every melody,

weaving in and out of lyrics,

like sheet music I can never read off paper

but can always hear

off your lips.

In every line

you fill the quiet in me.

Just

don’t stop talking and

I won’t ever stop

singing.

Perhaps I have written you

into all my music.

Perhaps you have written me

into something I can never bear to leave.