9
Sans
never realized how much
music i made until
she was gone.
the snare on the
table.
the cling on the
railing.
against my phone
nervous twitch.
clicking the clip
on
black pen.
the drop in
left pocket.
snare. snap.
boom. bip.
shuffle. tap.
slip of lips.
synchronizing a
new chorus.
now
the hits are hollow.
the verse empty.
sans ring.
thump.
you can only know me if we sat and had coffee
