The chair has been broken for a very long while

 

And the bruises on your lip darken when you smile

 

I cannot see you but your heart beats through the wall

 

As the red roosters crow and the black vultures call

 

 

I’ve now been writing you letters in tears and tar

 

I’m not sure why; I think I wonder how you are

 

I don’t dare mail them because I know he would see

 

I quiver when I think of how bad that would be

 

 

Night fall has stood up but we oughtn’t say a word

 

Either my lips are dripping or my eyes are blurred

 

I wish I could miss you but you tell me you’re there

 

Yet your fingers fade like dust and your words like air

 

 

I’ve now been writing you songs in structure and stone

 

But you don’t like them much; I guess I should have known

 

I’ll keep writing them though; it is something to do

 

Other than pounding iyan and stirring cold stew

 

 

Here we are once more; it’s just me, you, and the stains

 

And when you hold my hand, I count one, two, three veins

 

You are a dead leaf of winter, pressed against bark

 

And I pray that one day, this pencil leaves a mark

 

 

I’ve now been writing you notes in pigment and pain

 

This is thrice over now; I fear I’m not so sane

 

I’ve left or I’ve right but I know I will forget

 

You’re a siren and absence is a luring net

 

 

 

He’s there for you with a palm leaf for the thunder

 

But his roots latch on and extend deep, down under

 

His words don't ever wash off; they'll hold you like sap

 

You know that already; you're the web to his trap

 

 

I’ve now been writing you ballards in noise and nodes

 

And I’ll wait here patiently ‘till your world implodes

 

I will wipe away the ink that leaks from your eyes

 

And wring it out on paper where everything dries