He Only Loves My Voice

Sun, 12/25/2016 - 02:15 -- Shmiap

January bloomed in full moon,
And I fell in love after a drunk drop
Hit my lips, hit my hips.
I cried and cried
And sang jazz each night,
Until he put his left hand in my right.

I turned nineteen. He let me sing,
While he strummed his strings
In the flashing lights.
A bossa tune filled my head,
My feet of led,
My hands of glass.

Why'd it go so fast?

Eight months later his love left, stale.
I cried on the kitchen table,
While he still laid in bed.
My heavy head; it's not over still.
A flame burns slow on the 'sill.

Wax drips to cover the floor;
I can't stand the cold anymore.
Stoke my fire, please come back to me.
It's Christmas eve, no time to speak.
Just hold me close while we count down
Days, hours, seconds. I know I'm your second.

3, 2, 1.

It's past midnight. How much longer should I stay?

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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