You were a song
Your pulse was the bass drum and
I couldn't help but hum along
To whatever was plucking your heartstrings to make
Staccatos and chords
I thought the pick of your internal guitar
Was made of my words and my laugh, but no,
I was just one point on your infinite graph
I've never met anyone else who could
Make music from their fingertips like you can
Like when you brushed my hand a bit with your wrist
It created a symphony in my brain
But now it's just a chorus of crickets and rain
I need to stop getting my hopes up
Before someone gives me a rope and I confuse it with a necklace
But it's a noose or a leash and they are a leech
I try to compose songs out of sand from the warmest beach
To try to get my mind off of you but everything good
Contains the same threads that you do
Even the chirping birds' voices don't sound sweeter than your words
I didn't know your song
Was just my epitaph
A melody to honor a relic, and when my body is just a coffin
I guess it makes sense
