Cello Suite No. 5 in C Minor

Darkened eyes swell by firelight

until they’re glazed with smoke.

This hollowed heart echoes and it sounds like Bach,

filling the air that your voice used to love.

I pirouette around the baggage you left

and set your coat by the door–

old ash falls from the pocket.

You came in a cold January snow

but shed layers in April,

your blouson and my warmth

no longer being of use.

Hindsight makes it hard to tell

which of your words were

meant for me.

My eyes always did look like hers,

didn’t they?

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