To say the truth, I’m no musician
and barely a poet.
I’m just playing with the idea
of connecting the dots and lines and
pauses in between.

Reading the meaning
between the lines
and finding there is none.
So I’ll invent one.

I hear the words humming
of years and time and sex
of what had happened once
and that one ex.
Yes, that one.

I see the music playing
soundtracks to other lives
other stories other times
all those other things
that could have been.

I smell the words around us
of mornings and leftovers,
are you sure and should we really?

I taste the music around us
a touch of eager sweetness,
playful and, of course, bitter.

But most of all
I feel them.

The words and the music
chasing each other.
Music and words
avoiding each other.
A syncopated dance
of mutual shunning,
a scornful waltz
of unwelcome attraction,
a symphony
of discordance.