broken aegis

My love:

Many minutes have passed since we last crossed eyes, leaving me to wonder if anything still breathed in the minute crevices that our unspoken goodbyes left behind.

In the last hundred-thousand grains of sand, I have learned the blues well. Deus ex Maestro, the master of the Heavenly band, ordered these strings bent, the better to birth broken chords. My chest, resonant and empty beneath the ribs, has echoed these sounds well, causing these selfsame fingers to paint them on my eyelids for the whole world to see.

I have forgotten to scour the eastern skies, looking for our covenent on the horizon. I’ve witnessed hopelessness aplenty during the darkest nights; jets masquerading as stars for the desperate optimist. But love? No, not love.

I’ve walked in desperation and mimed my way through far too many days. Love is, alas, the last thing on my mind.

Or maybe it is the only thing? As many times as I’ve sung hopelessness’s hymn; I still forget the ending. All I remember are the measures blocked with eighth rests, each one anticipating
future sound, ultimately unresolved.

This, my love, has been the composition of my days in the sun. I can only hope that different stars have shined on you.

- égide