Minor Detail
It’s true I loved you best with a door between us, practicing the things women do with their hands.
Months later I’m still bad at music, bad at onions
Months later I’m still bad at music, bad at onions
bad at woman
brief as the sun.
Inside the night
I finally unstring
the instrument carefully strung.
All this time
I thought if I could see music I’d find you inside.