In the music in your body
is there a lone sound going its own way?
Does it tear through the symphony
& make the orchestra in your chest
scatter like desert flowers?
I ask because the music was playing
near your skin & I saw in your palms
what kind of arias you can make.
It stopped at a counterpoint
between taking me into you
& you escaping from your hands.
I mean you always wanted to run.
It is why we had the track
behind the house.
It is where I found your form
changing like a chrysalis & though
I moved within the music,
my name mentioned in several notes
that held up the structure,
I could see that these notes
had no support like a broken femur.
I lingered in your blood
waiting to be amputated & you did
not hesitate to remove that music
from inside your mouth.
You said goodbye will not be enough
so you tore my body from your torso
& broke the pictures of us
meeting near the sea.
That your music became a forlorn beast
uncoiling itself from your body
waiting for violence did not matter.
What mattered was, like any animal
caught in a trap, you chewed your way
out & if you have a bloody muzzle
& the taste of your body in your mouth,
at least you are free.
