October

As though a singer flawed my notes were sung in self-deception
While altering reception in the tone that chose to linger
I let my fingers run along your smoothest imperfections
And played a record full of grooves the way you used to love to

The underlying static was a sheet beneath the cadence
Bereft of all conveyance, though in ways more satisfying
Intensifying everything except the swift abeyance
That left a lonely echo in the missing song made of you

And maybe holding on to all the dim reverberations
As if elaborations of a letter left unfolding
Withholding all the sentiment, we killed considerations
And hid the pain in satin like the way poetic gloves do

With elevating tension growing ’round a waning smile
Like phantoms in denial of the hell that’s now awaiting
I’m fading with the memory that matches my exile
And wonder if you feel the weight I do recalling how I used to love you