My eardrums are hollow. Your voice gets lost in the canyon — I can’t hear you. Butchered affirmations and sermons of tender sentiment. They could never compare To the tap of rubber soles crossing the threshold. The crinkle of loosely wrapped cellophane, Even a soft gaze could shatter my stapes. I love yous  are empty. A careless arrangement of letters. Silver scaring still curls itself around my index finger. Your still vacant affections a soft echo. But your warm palm perched on my shoulder,  A symphony of devotion. And still it sits, Wrapped loosely around my neck. I never told you gold was my favorite.  But you knew I never wore silver.