Speech Therapy

You wrote on the keys of my piano “there is lost, there is gone, there is none” you painted shells on my back you spoke, my ears tear with sympathy. Your whisper. My eyes score you once more, you pull out the sharp you take in a drag you dab another long one you shape another colour. And fake goodbye. Yes. You always fake goodbye. Because this one isn’t done, unbegun you have shone won in my cells my skin for another, little take. Wakeful she’ll take you away, together in TV colour. Speech therapy