The air hangs, heavy and tasteless in my throat,
below a greyscale sky.
It's typical of an April afternoon.
There's a certain elegance to the smell of rain
held just above my head with delicate restraint.
It's easy to forget days like these,
Damp feet over dry pavement fall from the foreground of observation.
The wind pushes decidedly against the corners of my eyes,
trading the sights and sounds of ordinary events for wet cheeks and gentle contentedness.
Then it slips away silently, only to settle someplace
between the end of my face and the front of my perception like wallpaper.
And it's days like these that make it easy to forget
every time I made you smile.
Today, when I told you how much you mean to me
I don't know if you were listening but I promise it was beautiful.
Please help me remember
I'm afraid to say...
Forever.
your timbre
The way I feel when you speak
The way I hear when you play
with simple honesty,
with respect
with a touch of desperation and
a mountain of satisfaction
I want to reciprocate
before it's too late.
In the dream world of inflection and sensation, words and feelings fade so fast.
I can't tell you that I love you and
I can't tell you how your hand feels in mine
but
I can fight for you.
The truth.
Together
we could find the strength
To resonate
beyond my set of rigid fingertips pressing plastic
four hundred forty hertz in tune
when we sing
set against the solace of a steady rain that at last begins to fall.
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