Ok. So it's taken me forever. But as I promised myself- here it is, a little piece that got away from me :)

There's a piano next door that knows when I'm here

and its notes pounds on the floor

one last touch; meant to end

before the key is lift, but then

another note comes and the next and the next

so the night becomes score and its tempo

our breath,

There are no lyrics for us,

once a city of words

all buried between walls;

today we are more cartilage than bone,

we arch and turn but can we break

apart, away.

The lampost outside fakes the moon

light is aritificial but it's enough

to grace the rug, sidestep the chaise

to hide her eyes so I can believe

Her untruths and the secrets she wears

like tight rings they bruise, her promises like bracelets

clink hang and tease as

do the notes that from the piano sway

and it's useless to pull

back or away.

Always I wake up before her

leg over mine with the pain of my

arm bent to pillow; the aqua-moss bed drowned

for suspended minutes all sounds

and I start to ponder if walls

can they replay her voice.

I shouldn't have come.

Not last night. Or before.

I should've walked then

that piano, he never helps

it mourns for words we'll never say

so each night- each night I stay

when morning comes, I mourn again.