He Will Always Have My Symphony
he is a clock
two hands never meeting,
small one detained by diffidence,
over the course, coarse of time.
they could have clapped when I sang…
“Oh, baby, baby. I will always be your
Awedience even if seraphim’s steal the show”
knuckles could have cracked cracking me up, you showing your zeal
to take on the whirled and its wind but they remained in your pocket;
love locked up for all O’clocks.
then Staleons harnessed your hands to the barnacles of earth; the lesions
I would have bandaged with my satin braids, sheared; never minding looking
like a boy for seasons of reasons and more.
the closest I’ve seen your hands together was when you cupped your ears –
tick toc, tic toc we’re a grenade in your brain tic toc, tic toc no time to save
you then knew the hospitality of white coats
administering sanity down your throat
and there was nothing I could do but play checkers with myself in the wreckreation room,
fighting back tears with a punching glove, clobbering the chemicals in your brain that stole
you away from me, leaving me behind and confined like matches in a jar ready to strike.
tonight and for nights to come
I will sleep on a bed of nails until hell delivers you back to me
like before when your fingers traced my face and body till dawn,
when sun snuggled the earth.
such times can never be erased, forgotten –
those whiles now buried in your eyes
I am your wife, your music, your symphony
and will wait for you for all O’clocks