The Vacuum

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.