The Score

The key to feeling loved—attention sharped or flatted drilled or bored, love demands attention that’s the score— marry the compound emotions of gist and jest, sing the song of sorrow serene: lay lie Ophelia on the waves of death but grab the stage please. Separated, longing, faceless, safety falsely felt instruments of creation writhe in amour lipping candied words across a span of white following the cursor through the long night a bouncing ball while music plays, lovers seek delight. Age, an unseen pain does not betray the seeking heart wrinkled countenance denied by purloined words, heat self-fingered brings release percussed by tapping indexes, moans cascade to vibrato trills alone Attention to the tale, the changing platform of the frame love unknown, unfounded, forms within the detail of the page. Contest: The Pain of Night