you break my heart
and i turn you into a rhythm
footsteps on an empty page,
echoing words, absent of
your tongue, falling from memory to fingertip
to you – readers,
absent audience, hear my story – i carried new love on my back
and broke as it snapped
cracking down onto my bird-bone spine;
turned them into art, a tapestry
on the wall of my head-house.
not a masterpiece,
but a stepping stone
to becoming the patron saint to the lost and lovely hordes of the broken hearted.